


The Things We Do Not Say

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Burgers, Illustrated, Love Confessions, M/M, Sam Winchester is So Done, Truth Spells, couple for the case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: In a small, picturesque, lakeside town there is usually nothing more interesting than the local burger shack's latest creation to investigate. That is, until a spate of unusual deaths, seemingly targeting married couples, draws the attention of the Winchesters. With only a slim lead and a rising body count, Sam convinces Dean and Castiel to go undercover, posing as a couple with problems. As they're not really a couple it's not like they can be afflicted by whatever's going on. Even if they are, after living their lives in such close quarters it's not like they have secrets from the other. Certainly, no secrets they'd rather die than reveal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *takes podium* *clears throat*
> 
> Hallo! So this is my first ever bang and I have loved exploring romantic tropes within a case! I wanted to shout out to the mods of the SPNTC for making it such an enjoyable experience and my beta, sweetness47, for their help. 
> 
> But my biggest shout out (and excited screams and confetti cannons) is for my amazing artist dmsilvas. They stepped in as a pinch hitter and has repeatedly blown me away with how fantastic their art is, plus how beautifully they portrayed my story. I wrote the characters but they brought them to life! I could talk all day about how wonderful it all is, but you can just see for yourself. They've been truly amazing to work with and can we just appreciate I was the third fic they illustrated for this celebration and they wrote a fic herself! So please go show them some love and I hope you enjoy this thing we created <3 
> 
> The art masterpost is here:  
> https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/186490552378/art-masterpost-the-things-we-do-not-say
> 
> ~i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As part of the Canon-Typical Violence there are some mentions of suicide in the early part of this chapter.

There really was no reason for Sam to be glaring, yes _glaring,_ at that moment in time. The waitress had just returned with their order, and Dean hadn't even hit on her, not once. But then, it wasn't Dean that he was glaring at. It was Dean's plate, which as far as Dean was concerned, was somehow worse, and eventually, he snapped.

" _What_?" 

"Dude," Sam scoffed, gesturing to the plate in front of him, "it's lunchtime."

Dean looked from his plate to Sam's eyes, back to the plate. He didn't get it. "And?"

"And you're gonna eat all that. For lunch?"

Again Dean looked down at his plate, and a small part of him grudgingly admitted that maybe Sam had a point. A small one. _Maybe._

The burger and fries would probably have been enough, seeing as he'd hardly skimped on breakfast, and this place did not do small portions apparently. The onion rings were probably unnecessary, the extra bacon was mandatory, though he could have done without the blue cheese sauce, given that he'd also ordered whatever the hell 'cheese ball bites' were. They came with something that looked like marinara but tasted infinitely better, and he'd ended up ordering extra just because. He didn't know why Sam was complaining, there was corn, granted it was positively slathered in butter but it was still a vegetable. It wasn't the 'Grilled Zucchini Caprese' that Sam had ordered but it counted. So did the pickles, deep-fried or not.

"Listen, Sam, if you're going to drag me all the way out here for no good reason, then I'm gonna make it worth my while at this place," he gestured with his thumb at the menu, which proudly announced that they served so many burger combinations, you could eat there every day for a year and never eat the same one twice. If anything, Sam should count himself lucky that Dean had gone for a simple bacon cheeseburger, instead of one of the more colourful offerings. He'd try those later, they apparently weren't going anywhere fast.

Sam rolled his eyes, tentatively sliding a tomato slice through some balsamic dressing, while Dean tucked in with gusto, cheese sauce and burger grease already dribbling down his chin from one bite. "No good reason? We're working a case, Dean."

"Oh yeah, sure," Dean mumbled, and Sam closed his eyes, praying inwardly for patience as his brother sprayed him with half-chewed mincemeat, "what case is that again? One suicide, one murder and one disappearance over two weeks-"

"Witnesses say the vics were acting strangely before whatever happened...happened."

"Yeah, great, coz no one suicidal or murderous acts strangely before they off themselves...or y'know, someone else."

"I'm just saying, Dean-"

" _I'm_ just saying, there's nothing here."

"We've found cases on less," Sam said, pointedly, pursing his lips, which only seemed to amuse his brother.

"I'm here ain't I?" Dean shrugged because really Sam was right. They had found cases based on less, but this one seemed to be more one of Sam's hunches than any kind of hunter logic. Dean trusted Sam's hunches, but he wouldn't tell his brother that. Instead, he'd tease him until the case revealed itself, and until then he'd indulge in way too much fried-food because really, it was all worth it for Sam's face alone. At this point, the taste was just an added bonus.

Dean groaned happily as whatever a cheese ball bite was dissolved into his mouth, and was rewarded when Sam glared at him with even greater intensity. It was almost as good as what was melting against his tongue. He let Sam stew until he'd finished the burger and the bulk of his sides, before he finally breathed out and said, "So. What you got?"

Sam already had his laptop out, having finished what he considered food, and must have been studying the police reports, hardly needing to push a button before he started reeling off what he'd found.

"First vic was one Mark Danson. Vice president at a bank here, wife says he was acting strangely all week. Four days ago, he ran out of the house and took a swan dive off the bridge out of town, his body was recovered a few hours later. Number two, Rachel Lynn, worked from home selling painted pottery online, her wife said she'd been acting weird for about a week. They had an argument, and the wife attacked and killed her when Rachel revealed she'd been having an affair. That was on Wednesday, around the same time Elijah Smith was reported missing by his wife after a week of, drum roll please, acting strangely.”

Dean mopped up the cheese sauce, that had fallen out of his burger, with the last of his onion rings, and conceded his agreement with a nod. “Strangely how?”

Sam snapped the laptop shut, “I guess that’s what we’ll find out. I was thinking we’d go interview the witnesses, look over the case files, see what we find.”

“Alright then,” Dean said, already regretting having such a heavy lunch, as he gestured for the tab, while Sam started packing away their things. He had positively leapt into action, which was easily done Dean thought, given that he’d only eaten rabbit food.

* * *

Mrs. Danson had opened the door with a glare so cold it could freeze a man, in spite of the summer warmth outside. Her eyes narrowed when Sam and Dean, or rather, Agents Gabriel and Collins, introduced themselves and as they flashed their badges, she gave a sigh. “You boys don’t waste any time do you?” She opened the door wide and gestured them into her, admittedly, stunning home.

They had barely stepped across the threshold before Sam shot Dean his ‘don’t touch anything’ glare. Affronted, Dean immediately took to running his fingers over the nearest piece of ‘art’ that decorated the hallway, though he immediately pulled his fingers back when the statue swayed precariously. Sam, naturally, rolled his eyes. They were led into the kitchen, which looked more like it belonged in a showroom than an actual house, where a bottle of wine, almost empty despite the hour, stood on the counter-top. Mrs. Danson slipped onto a stool, looking at Sam and Dean with a resigned sigh.

“The sheriff said you’d be along,” she said, wearily, gazing down at nothing in particular, so she missed the quick look Sam and Dean exchanged. They hadn’t spoken to the sheriff yet. She looked up at them, “Can I get you something to drink?” Without meaning to, both of their eyes fell on the wine bottle, and she gave a weak chuckle. “Maybe something with less of a punch. Tea?”

“Please,” said Sam while Dean shook his head. They exchanged another look when instead of making tea, she pulled a jug from the fridge and poured Sam a glass of something that was almost orange. She set it in front of him, having apparently not noticed her error, and returned to her stool, and the wine.

“So,” she sighed, “I guess I tell you what I told the sheriff, right? I had no idea. None at all, whatever Mark was up to at work, he kept it at work, and he never told me any of it. The first I knew of it was when the sheriff came by yesterday…” Mrs Danson broke off and with an apologetic glance, she downed a hefty mouthful of wine. When she looked up, she saw Sam’s hand around the glass, though he hadn’t moved to drink it. “Oh, sorry, you probably wanted actual tea...I didn’t think-”

She looked so distressed, Dean wasn’t surprised when Sam assured her it was fine and took a token sip of the drink, though from the way he took a second sip he obviously hadn't exaggerated. “Mrs. Danson, we’re here to talk about your husband’s suicide.” Dean said, taking advantage of her momentary silence, “Could you talk us through that night? Anything he did or said, anything unusual or out of the ordinary?”

“Aside from throwing himself off the nearest bridge, you mean?” Mrs. Danson snapped, but she seemed to regret it the moment the words left her mouth. Visibly steeling herself she took another sip of wine, the last of the bottle, but she hadn’t seemed to notice before she spoke with the tone of someone who had regaled this particular version of events several times already.

“Mark came home from work, he was...flustered, I guess? He had been for a week or so, but I thought it was just stress.”

“When you say flustered, what exactly do you mean?” Sam asked, encouraging her to elaborate.

She gave a small shrug and shook her head. “He didn’t want to talk much, and every time I tried to have a conversation with him, he’d say some really weird stuff, and then he’d freak out and run off.”

“Weird stuff?” Dean prompted, “Like speaking in a different language or something?”

Mrs. Danson frowned, looking at Dean as though he had grown a second head, her own cocked to one side, reminding him of the way Castiel looked when he didn’t understand something. “No, nothing like that. Weird, as in telling me he didn’t like spaghetti when he'd always liked spaghetti. I cooked it for him on special occasions. I asked him if he liked my new dress, he told me that it was a waste of money, and he hated how much I spent on 'fashion'.”

Dean caught Sam’s eye and gave a small eye roll. This was hardly ghost-level strange. But he was looking forward to teasing Sam over assuming that a man telling his wife he didn’t like her dress was case-worthy. “It’s like he had a sudden change of personality.”

“And the night in question?”

Taking another 'glug' of wine, unaware that the bottle was empty, she continued. “He came home. I asked him how he was doing, and he said that he loved me very much, but that he was really struggling recently. He didn’t think therapy was working for us, but he really wanted it to work, because it would be bad for his position at the bank if he divorced me.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Then he said that it probably didn’t matter given that he was... and then he shoved his hand in his mouth and ran out, shouting that he was sorry.” Mrs. Danson sighed. “That was the last time I saw him. The cops came the following day to tell me they’d found a body. They came back yesterday, said that they were opening a case for embezzlement, they think he’s been skimming from the bank for years,” she choked on her own words, covering it up with a cough. “I imagine that’s why he did it.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Sam continued softly. “Your husband was embezzling from the bank?”

“I guess,” the woman whispered, her mascara starting to gather in heavy clumps, as her eyes filled with tears.

Neither of them said anything as they slipped into the Impala outside. Dean broke the silence first, a teasing grin slipping into his tone, “So. The guy's skimming off the top at work, knows he’s about to be found out, offs himself after realising he doesn't like pasta, and his wife doesn't look good in blue. Am I missing something?”

Sam was frowning, consulting the police reports he’d printed off, “I dunno, maybe. Guess we’ll see after we talk to vic two’s wife...”

* * *

It took some persuasion on their part to be allowed to interview Jennifer Lynn. The sheriff seemed puzzled by the federal interest in an open and shut murder case, struggling to see the link between that and an unconnected suicide. But Dean would never let it be said he didn’t commit, even when he didn’t have the same feel for it that Sam did, and managed to convince the guy it was some red-tape bullshit. He seemed to commiserate and let them take a crack at her, though take a ‘crack at’ might have been too aggressive a term.

Jennifer Lynn was a slip of a thing. Pale, blonde and wearing a jumpsuit two sizes too large which made her thin frame seem emaciated; her face seemed to be streaked with tears even though she didn’t look like she was crying. She regarded the two men before her with open-eyed horror and her body jerked, reflexively, as though it were reacting to sobs she hadn’t uttered yet. “I don’t, I don’t understand,” she stuttered, her voice hoarse from weeping, “why are you here?”

“We just need to ask you some questions,” Sam said in his softest, most understanding voice. Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Sam could field this one, and though he was still full from lunch, he wondered at what toppings he’d get on his dinner burger. “Can you tell us about the day-”

“The day I killed Rachel?” Mrs Lynn interrupted, coldly, her eyes passing between them.

Sam cleared his throat. “How long had you and Rachel been married?”

“Three years,” she choked, sniffling, as though she wanted to cry, but there was no moisture left within her to summon the tears, “four in June.”

“And how long had she been having an affair?”

This time the tears started falling freely, and the woman gave almost a cry of pain as she sobbed out, “Two years.”

“So you found out about the affair, is that why you-”

“I didn’t ‘find out’,” she cried, using air quotes just like Cas had done back in the day when he hadn’t been too sure how humans interacted, “she told me. She said- well she said a lot, I didn’t know what to make of it. I’d never heard her talk like that, before, it’s like she wasn’t my Rachel.”

Dean glanced up at that, his interest caught, “what sort of thing was she saying?”

“She said-” Mrs Lynn broke off, composing herself. After a few ragged breaths she continued, “she said all sorts of things. She told me that she didn’t love me, that she hadn’t ever really loved me. She told me she’d only married me to spite her parents, they said it wouldn’t last, and that she didn’t even consider herself to be having an affair seeing as she didn’t have any feelings for me. She said that if it weren’t for the money her parents gave her she would have divorced me a long time ago and she thought I was pathetic for the way I kept trying to make it work. She said...she even said that she hated my hair and she didn’t even like board games. We went out for board game night every Friday,” she added, without feeling, seeing the look of confusion on Sam and Dean’s face, “she just...she just kept talking, saying all these horrible things, it’s like she couldn’t stop herself and then the knife was in my hand and I-” she dissolved into sobs, burying her face in her hands as Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

Ok, Dean admitted, maybe there was something here after all.

“I don’t understand,” Mrs Lynn said, wiping her face with damp fingers, “I thought we were happy. I mean we were having problems, but we were working through them. We were going to go to Florida for our anniversary, why...why did she say those things? Why did I-…?”

“Thank you,” Dean cut across her, wanting to get out of there before she started crying again, “thank you for your time,” he said, as though she had had any choice in the matter.

“So, vic one has a big secret he almost spills to his wife but kills himself before he can, vic two has a secret she can’t help but tell and gets killed for it...what’re you thinking?” Dean asked, quietly, as the two walked out of the police station.

Sam raised his hand in thanks at the sheriff and sighed, “sounds a bit witchy, maybe?”

Dean groaned. “Uch, I hate witches. Might be, both vics had a secret they didn’t want to tell-”

"Wait,” Sam said, suddenly, “maybe it’s more than that.” His hand was paused on Baby’s passenger door handle, and Dean recognised his brother's 'working-something-out-face' so he didn’t push it, waiting for Sam to come to whatever conclusions he was coming to. He was the nerd after all. “Remember what Mrs. Danson said?” he said, slowly, “How her husband didn’t like something she thought he’d always liked, or told her what he really thought of her dress sense? And Rachel Lynn wasn’t just having an affair, she said other stuff too, like that thing about board game night...”

“So you think it’s more general, like a truth spell or something?” Dean asked, catching onto his train of thought.

“Maybe they were compelled to tell the truth about everything. Mark Danson killed himself before he could admit that he was stealing from his own bank, Rachel Lynn lets loose about her affair and gets knifed for her trouble...”

“Great,” Dean groaned, “a witch making people tell the truth to death...”

“...Sounds likely,” Castiel said over the phone to Dean later that evening. They had taken to calling each other every night, just to check in, nothing more than that. Their long and storied history of going behind each other’s backs, betraying each other, or doing something monumentally stupid in an attempt to protect the other, had come to a close when they realised they could just _talk_ to each other. What a revelation.

Dean would never admit to how much he looked forward to these calls, the first, “Hello, Dean,” never failed to calm him, no matter how bad the day had gone. Hearing Cas’ voice was like sinking into a warm bath, like coming home. He hadn’t wanted to call him this early, but Sam had asked him to, and he didn’t have a good excuse to not comply. So here he was, busting out the call while they waited for their dinner to cook, assuming Sam had ordered something that needed cooking at all, instead of waiting until they found a motel room where Dean had the time to ask about Cas’ day.

“Do you have a suspect in mind?”

“Not yet,” Dean muttered into the phone, shifting his weight, as though he could move closer to Cas by doing so, “Sam’s working on what connects them now, we’re gonna hit up the missing person’s house tomorrow, see if he’s linked to all this.”

“That sounds like a reasonable course of action. If you need me to look at anything have Sam send it over.”

“Sure. What’ve you been doing with yourself?” 

Across the table, Sam raised his eyebrow but said nothing. It wasn’t like Dean to make conversation, usually, he just cut them off when he’d said what he needed to say. The guy didn’t even say goodbye anymore, hanging up as soon as all the important stuff had been said. Dean turned his face away from his brother, choosing to ignore him as he listened to Cas rattle off the order in which he’d done various chores, “then I started something called Mission: Impossible.”

“The film or the series?” Dean asked, as though it were a matter of life and death, far more important than the case they were investigating at any rate.

He could hear Cas’ smile in his reply, “the series, Dean.”

“Good choice.” The waitress approached with their plates and Dean had never been annoyed to see food before. “Hey man, grubs up, I gotta go,” he said, reluctantly, but added, “I’ll check in tomorrow.”

He stayed on the phone long enough to hear Castiel say, “goodbye Dean,” and then he hung up, turning his attention to the beauty on his plate. Tonight he had gone for a pre-set, alleged favourite: ‘The Roast’. A pork steak, topped with stuffing, apple sauce, shavings of crackling and some sort of gravy sauce that was surely too thick to be actually gravy. It held its shape for a start. But it came with an extra pot on the side, in what looked like a miniature gravy boat (which was actually kind of cute) and it tasted delicious as Dean dipped some fries into it. Sam had had the decency to order a burger this time and he’d followed Dean’s lead and ordered from the pre-set menu, though Dean had groaned when his brother had said the words, ‘Veggie-burger deluxe with extra salad.’ How were they even related?

For a time, neither of them spoke to each other, digging into their dinner with healthy abandon, while Dean surreptitiously glanced over at the menu, wondering if he could get away with dragging Sam back here in the morning. The Breakfast Burger looked promising.

* * *

Sam had found them a motel just around the corner from the burger joint, which suited Dean fine, though he couldn’t help but frown as he parked Baby and glanced around the lot. He’d expected their usual fare of regulation fire doors lining one long concrete block of motel rooms, rather than what looked like a country park lodge. Several log cabins lay at different angles, nestled in woods that were a far cry from the asphalt on which they stood right now, even though it was just a few yards ahead. The motel office was a similar chalet and Sam exchanged a bemused look with his brother as he led the way to check-in. 

There wasn't much space in what looked like a hastily constructed office, knocked together in front of one of the cabins, so Dean let Sam sort their room out, staying outside and taking a moment to enjoy the night air. The woman who came to the desk reminded Dean of Pamela, she was older, blonder, but she greeted Sam like an old friend, with a kiss on both cheeks. Dean saw the way his brother’s shoulders tensed up and chuckled, she was going to eat him alive. He looked back across the lot to check if Baby was still there, but his eyes were drawn to the cluster of cabins, shrouded in the darkness of the trees, with only the occasional stream of moonlight to illuminate them. Cas would like it here, he decided. Idly, he thought of bringing the guy out for a vacation, but when did they ever have the time for that shit? Still, it was nice to dream. 

The slam of a car door across the lot drew his attention to a young couple, hands linked, heading for one of the cabins. They walked slowly, as though they had all the time in the world, the girl’s head rested on the guy’s shoulder and she said something that made him laugh, the sound carrying across the open space. He nudged her with his shoulder playfully, and though she stumbled, his hand held her tight. Soon she was back at his side, the sound of their soft laughter fading as they stepped into their cabin.

Sam and the woman were still talking, their voices muffled by the cabin door and Dean found himself smiling, staring at the closed door the couple had gone through. Almost without meaning to, almost, he imagined pulling up in Baby for a moment, no monsters or hunts to worry about, which was how he knew it was too fantastical to ever happen. In his mind’s eye, he could see Cas’ face light up when he saw the cabins, shrouded in so much greenery, and he’d smile at Dean. As it was little more than a daydream, Dean could take Cas’ hand without having to worry about how they’d gotten to that stage, and Cas would accept it, leaning against his shoulder. They’d have to walk slowly, but they wouldn’t mind. Cas would be warm against him, the guy radiated heat, but his smile would be warmer as they found their cabin and he beamed with gratitude and...something else. Something softer that sometimes Dean would catch somewhere in Cas’ impossibly blue eyes-

“Dean?” Sam patted his shoulder, almost harshly, and Dean was yanked back to reality, though he fancied he could still feel the angel’s warmth at his side. Sam glanced around them, clearly looking for whatever had caught Dean’s interest so completely, but finding nothing he turned back, confused. “You ok, man? You were sort of grinning...”

“What? Oh, I was just-” he glanced over Sam’s shoulder as though he might spy himself and Cas leaning into each other, but of course, there was nothing, “nothing, what were you saying?”

Sam held a key up in front of Dean’s face, “number three, come on.”

Stepping into their home, for the next few days at least, Sam let out a brief, “wow,” and for once Dean agreed with him without an argument. He hadn’t expected anything so...homely. Everything was soft furnishings with woven throws flung over them as though they were expected to be caught out in mid-winter without heating, even though it was June. Sam dropped his bag on the sofa before he turned to examine the art on the walls, decorated in a language Dean didn’t recognise or particularly care to identify. His attention was taken by the beds, soft and inviting, with yes, even more, throws of varying patterns shucked over the kind of blanket you’d usually pay extra for in a motel. Without even kicking his shoes off, much to the annoyance of his brother, even though Sam didn’t actually say anything about it, Dean let himself fall face-first onto the bed and let out a groan of relief.

“Hey, y’know, I think this might be an older form of Russian or something, maybe-” Sam was saying, but Dean barely heard him. The bed was bliss, and for the first time in a long, long time it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Dean were shown into Mr. and Mrs. Smith’s living room by a carer, dressed in nurse’s whites. “Mrs. Smith is resting right now, I’m afraid she won’t be available until this afternoon, but if I can help at all...” she trailed off, looking at the two of them optimistically, and they couldn't help but smile back. It was a nice change to meet someone so willingly cooperative.

“We just have some questions about Mr. Smith’s disappearance,” Dean said, getting straight to the point, while Sam glanced around the lounge, taking in the photographs of a seemingly happy couple.

“It’s terrible isn’t it?” the carer sighed, “do you have any idea what might have happened?”

Sam gave a small cough, “actually, that’s why we’re here, we thought we’d go over everything again, see if we can’t find anything that might prompt something.”

The woman nodded as though it made perfect sense to her but she gave a shrug, “like I told the police, everything was fine. Mr. Smith is Mrs. Smith’s primary carer, but I come in three days a week for support. I came in as usual on Tuesday, Mr. Smith was a little agitated but said he was ok. Mrs. Smith said that he was acting a little cagey around her, but,” she hesitated and seemed to gauge the agents before she continued, “it’s hard being a carer, and Mrs. Smith has been having it particularly rough lately, so we just chalked it up to some additional strain you know? He went out after I took over, he usually did on my days and then...he just didn’t come back. Mrs. Smith is devastated, of course, I mean, however hard it was on the two of them they are...well, they were a solid couple. I can’t see him walking out on her, something must have happened.”

Sam gave Dean one of their looks and, turning to the carer, asked, “Excuse me, is there a bathroom I can use?”

Suspecting nothing she pointed back to the hallway. “It’s just through there on the left. Please use the downstairs restroom, Mrs. Smith is resting upstairs.”

“Thank you.”

There wasn’t much more for Dean to follow up on, so he stalled for time, allowing Sam to give the ground floor a good look at least. But the carer didn’t have much else to say, Mr. Smith had otherwise been completely normal, there had been no strange smells, sounds, sights or anything, in fact, she’d looked quite bewildered at the nature of the follow-up questions. She was just starting to notice that Sam had been gone longer than usual, when he reappeared at the doorway, making a show of rubbing his hands as though to dry the last of the drips from them.

“Nothing,” he said, once the two of them were safely back in the Impala. The two of them gave an almost identical huff. “Everything looked normal, like really normal. They even had their own calendar for appointments and separate chopping boards for different types of meat.”

“And that sounds normal to you?” Dean joked, but he had nothing either.

Sam sighed, “I dunno man, what now?”

“I guess we just try to find something that connects the vics.” Dean started up the engine.

“I couldn’t see anything,” Sam pouted, “but I guess we could look again, maybe there’s something I missed.”

But if there was something he had missed, Dean missed it too. They’d been pouring over everything they had on the two definite vics and the one possible, but nothing seemed to leap out at them.

“I got nothing,” Dean groaned, rubbing his hand over his eyes, as though that could alleviate their weariness.

“Wait,” Sam said, suddenly, rustling through some papers beside his laptop, “I’ve got something. It’s not much, well...actually, it’s hardly anything...”

“What you got?”

“Remember I said the Smiths had a calendar for their appointments? Well one of them was for a Doctor Vasiliev and I was checking the bank’s internal appointment calendar and looks like Mark Danson had a regular Tuesday afternoon appointment with Doctor Vasiliev...It’s gotta be the same guy, right?”

“Not the most common of names,” Dean conceded.

“It’s why I remembered it...I mean it’s not much, but-”

“-it’s all we got.” Dean sighed, “ok, so where is the good Doc?”

Sam was already typing furiously on the laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard before he stopped short with a breathy, “huh!” Spinning the laptop around, Dean found himself looking at a particularly clean website for some kind of mental health clinic. Sam had opened the page for one Doctor Goran Vasiliev, “specialist couples counsellor,” Dean read off the page.

Sam turned the laptop back to himself, “Vic one’s wife, didn’t she say something about counselling? And didn’t Jennifer Lynn said they’d been working through things...you think maybe they were seeing this guy?”

“Maybe,” Dean shrugged, “think we could check his -” he broke off as the laptop gave a ping and Sam frowned.

“Hey,” he said, pulling up another screen, “just got a police report flagged, looks like another murder and,” he pulled a face, “oh-make that a double murder-”

Dean reached over to throw on his jacket, “alright, I’ll take the murders, you go check out Doctor Vaseline.” Sam looked like he was going to correct him, but ultimately he settled for rolling his eyes and following his brother out.

* * *

The crime scene was a mess. Dean arrived shortly after the coroner and they hadn’t quite gotten as far as covering the bodies. The sheriff watched the scene with a resigned sort of detachment, seemingly unfazed when Dean approached, greeting him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a sigh. He leaned further against the kitchen counter, watching a gloved officer gather up the potential murder weapons. A gun disappeared into a plastic bag, along with at least two knives, Dean’s eyes widened when he saw the bloody baseball bat.

“What happened here?” he asked, leaning against the counter beside the sheriff.

When he spoke it sounded as though the weight of the world were being forced out into his words, “Welcome to the world of Chris and Dianne.”

Dean frowned, watching what might have been Dianne once, practically fold into a body bag, “they do this often?”

“Often enough,” the sheriff said, grimly, “should have known this would happen.” He could feel the question in Dean’s gaze, though Dean could read a man well enough to know that the sheriff wasn’t going to keep it from him, even if he was being a little cryptic. “Chris and Dianne have a...history of battery and assault, usually on each other. Lost count of the calls we get from the neighbours...”

“Neighbour call this in too?”

The sheriff nodded, “yeah, we’re not sure which of them went first, looks like they just beat each other to death.”

Dean looked over at him, surprised at the nonchalance with which he could view the violence, “so...this isn’t unusual?”

“Not really, this ain’t the first time they’d gone to town on each other, hell it isn’t even the first time one of them had shot the other. It was only a matter of time before they killed each other. But, what can you do?” He sighed, “they kept coming back to each other.”

“Hm. Mind if I…?” Dean gestured to the house and the sheriff just nodded.

“Knock yourself out.”

Aside from a surprising amount of liquor and an abundance of blunt objects, there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. But then Dean's eyes fell on the letter and after a quick glance to make sure the sheriff wasn’t looking, he slipped it into his jacket pocket.

* * *

Sam was gone far later than Dean had expected. He’d shot off a text to tell him he was done with the crime scene and got a brief, snippy response to say that he was still at the clinic. As it happened Dean had to drive past the burger place to get back to the motel, so being the good brother that he was, he pulled in to grab them dinner. It wasn’t like Sam to get frustrated enough to sound it over a short text message, so Dean ordered their most popular salad with a side of their healthiest kind of potatoes. Maybe that’d cheer the guy up. For himself, naturally, it was another burger creation. This one claimed to be inspired by Italy, which Dean wasn’t particularly bothered by, but the idea of mozzarella inside the burger as well as on top of sounded intriguing and if the marinara sauce that topped it was the same one that came with the cheese ball things then he would die a happy man.

Waiting at the counter, Dean pulled out his phone and debated calling Cas but figured they’d probably have to cut their chat short when the food came, so he sent a text instead, idly scrolling through their chat history while he waited for a reply. Damn, the guy liked emoticons, he couldn’t help but grin just looking through them, his finger tapping absently against the side of the phone. He definitely wasn’t staring at the phone waiting for Cas’ reply to come through. His face lit up when Cas replied to the generic, ‘how’s it going?’ with four long messages considering the intricacies of _Mission: Impossible_ and what parallels he’d drawn between it and the book of Exodus. When the waitress returned with Dean’s order all bagged up with a handy carry case for the beer, she found him squinting at his phone, struggling to understand whatever it was he was reading, but he was smiling nonetheless.

A frown creased Dean’s brow as he parked the Impala in the motel lot, finding their cabin as they'd left it. Sam still wasn’t back, even though it was starting to get dark and he hadn’t asked Dean to come and pick him up or anything. At least they had dinner, Dean thought, slipping out of the car, balancing the bag and the beer carefully as he locked up. Across the lot, he saw the couple from before, dancing, honest to God dancing in front of their cabin to music that only they could hear. Maybe it was his jaded and cynical nature, or maybe it was because he thought that grown adults should know better but all the sight elicited in Dean was an exaggerated eye roll. He might have muttered something under his breath but as he turned he almost dropped everything he was carrying, unaware that someone had been standing beside him for God knows how long.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean breathed, managing to right himself before the beer smashed against the ground.

In the moment between instinct and reflex, he recognised the woman as the one who had checked them in at the motel office and judged her harmless enough that instead of drawing his gun he could afford to save dinner. The woman, however, a vision of mixed fabrics, hair and jewellery, seemed to have found his curse hilarious and was laughing openly at him.

“Not quite!” she said, with a thick European accent and a glint of mischief in her eye, “my name is Stacia, you like your room?”

“Sure, yeah, it’s great,” Dean replied when he’d gotten his breath back, which for some reason seemed to amuse the woman further.

She glanced over his shoulder to where he had been looking a moment before and gave a happy sigh, “ah to be in love,” but by now Dean was staring at her in open confusion which only intensified when she placed her hands on either side of his head, looking into his face, “of course, you know all about that, lapochka!” She tapped his cheeks affectionately, and still chuckling to herself she turned back to the cabin that doubled as her office, leaving Dean beside his car wondering what the hell had just happened.

When Sam showed up about an hour after Dean had escaped the weird motel woman, he slipped into the room, holding up a finger and gesturing to show that he was on the phone. Dean wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong, but he could tell just from the way Sam seemed to sigh, ‘uh-huh, no I know-’ into the phone and the heaviness with which he dropped onto the sofa, that his trip to visit the doctor had been less than productive...”yeah, yeah, great,” Sam wiped his eyes tiredly, “ok, thanks Cas, yeah. See you soon.” He rang off and let his phone fall onto the cushion beside him, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. Dean regarded him for a moment before he plated up Sam’s salad that had only started to wilt a little without a fridge to hand.

“That Cas?” Dean asked, unnecessarily, as Sam accepted the plate gratefully.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “just needed to check a few things with him, “you not eating?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow but Dean smirked.

“Finished just before you got back.” If he licked his lips he could still taste the marinara on them, it might have been enough calories to induce a heart attack but if it was worth it for the deliciousness.

Sam rolled his eyes, “how was the double murder?”

“Bloody. Sheriff says it’s not out of character for them though.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, “they kill each other often?”

Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter he’d taken from the crime scene, sliding it to his brother. Sam unfolded it with interest and Dean sipped a beer while Sam’s eyes skimmed the letter’s contents.

“Wow,” Sam mouthed, “state-mandated anger management, mediation, counselling sessions and-huh,” he trailed off, lifting the business card stapled at the bottom, “with Doctor Goran Vasiliev.”

“Heck of a coincidence, don’t you think? What did you get?”

Sam pursed his lips, unimpressed, “nada.”

“You got nothing? Thought you went to the clinic?”

“Yeah, I did,” Sam protested, “and the receptionist is a stickler for confidentiality. Wouldn’t give me any of Vasiliev’s patients details, she wouldn't even confirm that the any of our vics were patients of his, said she needed a form signed by my supervisor and the local health authority to release any information to me.”

“Well...did you flash the badge, ‘interrupting a federal investigation’ and all that?”

“Of course I did,” Sam said, tiredly, around a mouthful of greens. “But she knew her stuff, said the doctor was done for the day but if I wanted to make an appointment to interview him-”

“Did you?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, and Dean narrowed his eyes, but before he could ask what was up Sam said, “of course, yeah.”

“Hm...so, what? We break into his office, take a look at his files?...”

Sam shook his head, “turns out he doesn’t actually work at the clinic, just out of it, so he doesn’t have a specific office, just a room he uses. If he’s got files to steal they’re not gonna be there.”

“Great...so what were you talking to Cas about?”

There was no mistaking Sam’s guilty look, but he shrugged it off, “just some stuff, got him to look into something, he’ll get back to us in the morning.” Dean held his brother’s gaze for a moment, waiting to see if he’d continue, but he didn’t. He opened his mouth to ask again, but Sam cut him off, waving a forkful of lettuce at him, “this is great, Dean, thanks.”

Dean knew he was being played, even as Sam reached over for the remote and flicked through the channels looking for a Doctor Sexy rerun. He frowned at his brother, and he knew Sam was deliberately not looking at him. But as the show’s intro started he couldn’t help but turn towards it. Whatever. He could ask Cas in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn’t find it particularly suspicious that Sam hadn’t woken him the following morning. Neither did he find it odd that Sam was dressed in jogging gear that showed he’d clearly already been out for a run, in fact, he was just grateful to see the bag on the table suggesting he’d at least brought breakfast back with him. What was weird was the way in which Sam seemed to be leaning beside the window, looking out into the car park.

“You see something?” Dean called over and Sam practically hit his head on the ceiling from jumping so high.

“ _Dude_!” he snapped back, though he would have to admit that Dean hadn’t done anything particularly untoward in simply waking up.

Dean gave him a small wave, as if to hammer home the point, and gestured to the window, “Whatcha' looking at?”

“Nothing,” Sam said, quickly, too quickly and Dean’s brow furrowed. “What? Nothing? Just thought- thought I saw something, doesn’t matter,” he patted the paper bag, “I got breakfast.”

Dean might have pushed it but that could wait until after breakfast. Especially when he hadn’t had to sort it out for himself. He satisfied himself with a swift scan of the car park as he moved to the breakfast table, but sure enough, there was nothing there except the handsy couple from the next cabin. “Perv,” he chuckled, earning a swift eye roll from his brother who shoved the bag at him. Not that Dean minded, not when there was food to be had. Admittedly, breakfast via Sam could be a lottery sometimes. The guy considered blended fruits and veggies an acceptable meal and if he was particularly “worried” about Dean’s “cholesterol” or “blood pressure” he might try to pass off his veggie nonsense as an alternative to actual food. Given how many burgers he had consumed recently, Dean was fully prepared for a pot of oatmeal or something equally atrocious in the bag, not several wrapped hashbrowns and two bacon rolls. It was so suspicious that for a moment Dean looked back out the window to make sure Sam hadn’t dinged Baby or something and was trying to put him in a good mood.

“She’s fine, Dean,” Sam scoffed, immediately catching on, “dude, it’s just breakfast.”

But Sam’s attention hadn’t wavered from the car park so Dean watched him through narrowed eyes even as he made short work of the hash browns. He was halfway through his first bacon roll when he saw Sam straighten, as though he’d seen something, and move to the door.

“Ok, Sam, what the hell?”

But Sam was opening the door and holding his hand up to get someone’s attention. “Sam-” Dean barked, but he broke off when Sam stepped back from the door so that someone could step inside. He almost choked on a mouthful of bacon when Castiel stepped in, his eyes falling on Dean the very moment he entered the cabin, his lips quirking into a smile at the sight.

“Hello, Dean.”

Not that he wasn’t glad to see him or anything, but Dean’s attention was not on Cas, despite the warmth that spread through him just because he was here. Sam didn’t look happy, in fact, he looked warier than he had before, even though he had obviously been responsible for Cas’ appearance.

“Cas? The hell are you doing here?”

Cas looked over at Sam, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

“Sam told me you needed my help on the case. He said we-”

“I uh, I haven’t told him yet,” Sam interrupted before Cas could say something he clearly didn’t want him to.

Dean looked between Cas and Sam, but before he could admonish his brother, Cas did it for him, “ _Sam_ ,” and really that was all it took for Sam to hang his head, having the decency to look ashamed, “you said-”

“I know,” Sam cut in, “I know.” He gave an exhale, running his hand through his hair in a way that hardly put Dean at ease. He might have asked what was going on, but Sam leaned back against the wall, looking at Dean as though he were trying to be serious while also treading a minefield. “Yesterday, when I was at the clinic, I uh...I saw Doctor Vasiliev.”

Frowning, Dean tried to figure out where this was going, “I thought you said he was done for the day when you went?”

“Yeah he was, but I managed to catch him for a couple of questions.”

“Ok...and you didn’t say anything because…?”

Sam gave a small shrug, “I didn’t get anything out of him. He said he wouldn’t give out any information on his patients, he wouldn’t confirm if they even were his patients just like the receptionist had already said. Then he left and I searched the room but he just uses it, there was nothing in there that was his, so...on my way out, I made an appointment with the receptionist.”

“For what?” Dean asked, puzzled, though he became even more puzzled when Sam didn’t answer, choosing instead to look at him expectantly. Glancing up, he saw that Cas was looking at him too and something in his brain seemed to click. He was on his feet before he even realised what he was doing, “no. Oh no. _No no no no no no_. Not happening. No.”

“Dean-” Cas started saying but Dean didn’t want to listen.

"No."

“Dean, he’s a _couples_ therapist," Sam tried in his most persuasive voice, "I couldn’t get him one on one and he’s already clocked me, so...I called Cas...” Dean glared at Cas as though he had personally betrayed him just by showing up, but Cas just sat with his usual unfazed expression. “Look, Dean, all you have to do is go in, talk some crap about feelings with Cas or for Cas...or...whatever,” the look Dean shot his brother could have felled lesser men and probably several demons, “see if there’s anything weird about it, while I dig up what I can on the guy, see if we can’t find out where he lives or something.”

“Weird? Weird like going to marriage counselling with my best friend? You couldn't get Jody or Donna down here for this?”

If Cas was offended by the implication he didn't show it. Sam folded his arms, giving his brother a pointed look, “Look we’ve got a body count racking up and this guy is our only lead and it’s a pretty slim lead, Dean. So yeah, you’re going, at least if he hexes you or something we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

Dean dropped heavily into the chair, slapping his thighs and glaring at Cas, “and you’re ok with this?”

He didn’t like the way Cas was looking at him, he rarely liked the way Cas looked at him, no wait, he loved the way Cas looked at him, he didn’t like it because he never knew how to look back, would inevitably get embarrassed and turn away flushing. Right now, Cas was looking at him with the smallest of smiles as though he’d just said something mildly amusing, not enough to warrant a laugh, but enough to invite a smirk at least. He shrugged his shoulders and Dean did not notice the way that his forearms seemed to ripple from the movement even under his trench coat as he did so. “I don’t mind,” Cas said, then with a grin unbecoming of an angel of the Lord he added, “sweetheart.”

“You shut your mouth,” Dean snapped, blushing furiously, but that was definitely because he was angry. Definitely.

* * *

The appointment was for two o’clock, but for the moment Dean couldn’t look at his stupid brother without wanting to punch him in his stupid face for coming up with such a stupid plan. So he did the only thing he could and took Cas out for lunch because hey, if it was a two o’clock appointment then he’d need to eat first and of course he was going to take Cas with him seeing as they had to attend this appointment together. And no - Sam couldn’t come. He could get into researching Vasiliev and seeing if there was anything else that connected the victims in case this didn’t go the way he expected. Of course, Dean would take Baby, and if Sam was stuck driving the ugly pimpmobile Cas called a car, well that was just his fault for getting them into this situation in the first place.

Cas could usually surprise Dean, given that he was an angel and hadn’t quite mastered the subtleties and the not so subtleties of being a normal human being. But Dean couldn’t remember ever being as surprised as he held the cabin door open for Cas only for the angel to slip his hand into Dean’s and lean gently against him. At first, Dean made to jump away in surprise but he caught Cas’ eye and saw the motel owner, Stacia, tidying up the flowers in front of the office. Well, it was a small town, might as well play it up. Turning a beaming smile on the angel, Dean squeezed his hand and they walked to the Impala side by side. If Sam called them up on it, he’d swear blind it was just putting on a show for any locals that saw them. And if Dean walked a little slower than usual, holding Cas a little closer than need be, well, nobody needed to know that but him.

Even though Cas didn’t need to eat and only indulged in food on occasion, purely for appearance's sake, he studied the diner’s menu with greater interest than Sam studied the books back at the bunker. Dean watched him, as he watched most of what Castiel did, always slightly in awe of the way the guy carried himself. Like he'd never truly adapted to life on earth. Like he wasn’t quite a part of it, where even the smallest or mundane of things gave him pause or pleasure. Sometimes, Dean wondered if he could pass an hour watching Cas do something as minor as read a menu, his face broken into pure delight by the wordplay involved in naming burgers. When the waitress came to take their order, Dean fumbled for a moment, having not actually looked at the menu, having spent the whole time staring at Cas, smiling at his smile.

“I’ll have a coffee, black and he’ll have 'The American Dream' with bacon and a beer, please,” Castiel said, politely to the woman, while Dean stumbled over the choices, even though this was what, his fourth time here? They’d have to start a rewards club or something just for him.

“You ordering for me now?”

Cas gave an adorable shrug, “it seems like the kind of thing a couple would do.” Dean blushed, Cas noticed and added, “Also I imagined you’d need at least one beer to be comfortable with this.” He sighed, heavily, “I’m sorry, Dean, Sam told me that you were on board and not to call you.”

“Yeah, coz I’d have told you this was stupid-”

“Yes, but," Cas interrupted, patiently, "as we are going to the appointment, maybe we should work out our “backstory” first.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and the beer hadn't so much as touched the table before Dean immediately took a hefty gulp. Cas was wrong, he’d need at least this one beer to get through this conversation alone. “Backstory?” Dean asked, wondering how his life had come to this point.

Cas was unfazed, Cas was always unfazed. “I had some ideas if you’d like to hear them?” he raised an eyebrow, but Dean choked down another sip of beer, grateful that for as long as Cas was talking, he wouldn’t have to contribute.

“Go ahead!” he said, eagerly. Too eagerly in hindsight, but Cas took it with a smile.

He leaned onto his forearms, pressing onto the table slightly as though he were excited to be sharing the ideas he’d had with Dean. Dean couldn’t help but smile, his enthusiasm was adorable.

“Obviously, we can’t use many details from our actual lives. I don’t think it would be prudent to admit we met when I pulled you out of hell...”

Dean snorted, “you think?”

“Then I thought that we could draw a story from popular culture but saying that we met through pizza delivery didn’t seem very probable.”

Dean almost choked again. He was not going to survive this conversation.

“So ultimately I decided we could go through the vagaries of being introduced through your brother, going out on several dates before we decided to pursue a romantic relationship. We’ve been together ever since, though we haven’t married-”

“Why not?” Dean asked before he could stop himself, immediately regretting voicing the thought.

Cas gave a small shrug, “according to our story because you have a fear of commitment which along with your communication issues have contributed to our needing to seek couple’s therapy. In reality, neither of us own wedding rings and I imagined you would be uncomfortable with having to wear one, even if we were able to procure them in time.”

Dean’s mouth dropped, even though he couldn’t quite pinpoint his emotions. Why was he bothered that Cas seemed to think he had a fear of commitment? Communication issues?! Why would he not wear a wedding ring if he was married to Cas, _to Cas_?

“Dean? You are aware this is fictional for the sake of the case?” Cas said, quietly, reading Dean’s face like an open book, because dammit he could always do that, even when, no... _especially_ _when_ Dean didn’t want him to. Dean swallowed down the inexplicable lump in his throat and nodded.

“Uh-huh, yeah sure. Right,” he shook his head, as though that could physically shake the weirdness from him, “so,” he took a deep breath, “I’m an emotionally constipated ass who can’t communicate. What’s your problem?”

Cas arched an eyebrow, as though it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that he might in some way contribute to their relationship troubles. Their _fictional_ relationship troubles.

Dean groaned inwardly. This was the worst idea Sam had ever had.

“I suppose...I have, _could have,_ I mean, a tendency to bottle my own feelings in the interest of not pushing you or keeping the peace,” Cas said, slowly, too slowly, “that probably leads to some lingering resentment which would no doubt manifest itself between us and contribute to our emotional distance.”

“Ok, neither of us says what we’re thinking, good,” Dean said, a little too enthusiastically, “sounds like a plan.”

If asked, he would have chalked up the flush in his cheeks to the swiftness with which he all but downed the beer and as the waitress placed the burger in front of him, Cas took the chance to order Dean something softer, a coke this time. Dean barely noticed, his attention drawn by the grill’s latest offering. It was positively simple compared to the other creations available; a quarter pounder, bacon, American cheese, pickles, a garnish of tomatoes, crisp onion and lettuce topped with what looked like some kind of ketchup, mayo combo. It wasn’t one that Dean would have chosen for himself, almost always opting for a fancier option he couldn’t get elsewhere, but this was simple, just like him and when he bit into it he couldn’t help but moan his appreciation.

“Cas, this is great,” he murmured, trying to keep the mouthful of food actually in his mouth while he spoke.

Castiel was smiling. “I know, Dean.”

* * *

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the therapist, but whenever he had imagined the man, he’d pictured a small guy, bordering on skinny, with a soft voice that probably couldn’t be raised if he’d tried. A sweater vest and thin, wire-frame glasses perched at the end of a nose completed the vision and he’d sit opposite Dean and Cas, nodding assuringly and making notes on the clipboard tucked against his crossed leg. That’s what therapists looked like, right? They did not look like the man sitting opposite Dean and Castiel right now. They did not look like Doctor Vasiliev who had shaken hands so firmly, Dean was surprised his shoulder hadn’t dislocated.

The guy was strong. Not just strong, _built_. He at least wore a sweater vest paired with a pale dress-shirt, but that did nothing to conceal muscles that would put a bodybuilder to shame. He reminded Dean of those European guys on World’s Strongest Man. The giants. With muscles so defined they looked like they might have been carved from marble rather than the human form. Castiel hadn’t really spared the guy a second glance, but Dean’s eyes were practically falling out of their skull, this guy should be guarding a fancy casino on the Riviera or something. He should not be a therapist. He still had the glasses though, perched on the end of his nose as he regarded Dean and Castiel from above them, as though they weren’t really needed. His voice was not soft or wispy, it was firm, commanding and had the slight lilt of an accent.

“Welcome, welcome,” he had said, expansively as though he were introducing them into his home rather than a rented office in an unassuming clinic. “Dean and...Castiel?” he said, glancing at his notes, “what an unusual name.”

Cas gave a small shrug, “no more than Vasiliev I imagine,” he said, evenly, and Dean recognised from the tone that Cas was already on guard, surveying the room without looking for any hint of something untoward.

“True, true, come, sit, may I offer you tea?”

Dean was on the cusp of replying when Cas cut across him, smoothly, “that would be lovely, thank you. Dean is fine.” Vasiliev frowned slightly, looking between them with barely a hint of movement, so Dean jumped in, after all, Cas was his husband for now.

“I don’t like tea,” he said, with a weak smile.

“I have water,” the Doctor offered, rising to make Cas his tea. Cas shot Dean a pointed look which he didn’t quite understand, but could always ask later so he assured the man he was fine. What the doctor brought back with him didn’t look like tea and there was a distinct lack of steam rising from the glass mug, but Castiel accepted it with a thank you. He took a sip and Dean’s heart jumped into his throat as he realised why Cas had discouraged him from accepting anything. If this guy was a witch and there were spells involved…

Dean glared at Cas out of the corner of his eye, silently demanding he put the cup down, but Cas ignored him and gave a small, ‘hm’ of approval.

“You like it?” Vasiliev asked, cheerily, “a little taste of my homeland,” and as Cas put the cup on the coffee table in front of them, Dean noticed a familiar smell of cloves and cinnamon. It was delightfully fragrant, even though it had probably just cursed Cas.

“Where is your homeland?” Cas asked, and it was almost a challenge. But the doctor didn’t bite, smiling benevolently at them.

“We don’t need to talk about me, we are here to talk about you. Now. Dean. Castiel. Tell me a bit about your relationship. Not the problems,” he added, almost hastily, as though expecting them to launch into petty recriminations, “just generally.”

Dean let Cas speak, reeling off their pre-prepared story of meeting through Sam, hanging out together without him before they decided to go for a couple of dates. One thing led to another and here they were, for effect Cas reached over and linked his hand with Dean’s, their fingers falling seamlessly together. Despite it all, Dean couldn’t help but smile at the angel. The smile faded when he looked up though, finding Vasiliev studying them intently and he shifted, uncomfortable under the doctor’s eye, something he noticed the doctor scribbled down on the pad before him.

When Cas had finished his rundown of how Dean and Castiel had come to be, the doctor regarded them in silence for a moment, before he turned his attention to Dean. “You don’t say much, Dean.”

He framed it as an observation but there was no doubt it was a question. Dean decided to run with it and gave a small shrug.

Vasiliev sighed. “And at home, when it is just you and Castiel, are you just as quiet then?”

He was on the verge of shrugging again when he realised that however uncomfortable he was this was a case and this was all make-believe anyway, right? Might as well go for it, “yeah,” he said, as though the blatant honesty were a struggle for him, which wasn’t too far from the truth, “I’m more a guy of action than words.”

“And what if Castiel needs words to know how you feel about him?” Vasiliev asked, after a brief pause. Dean practically squirmed on the seat. Frikkin’ Sam. Even for a case, this was a bit much.

“He knows how I feel about him,” he mumbled, noting out of the corner of his eye that Cas’ head drooped slightly. “What?” Dean said, turning, “you do know right?”

Cas opened his mouth and closed it again, before he settled on a muttered, “sometimes.”

Dean dropped Cas’ hand as though it had suddenly burned him. They were acting, right? This was make-believe, right?! So why did Cas look so betrayed? Probably because this was all fake, but then why did it send a pang of regret through Dean’s very soul to see him look like that? Neither of them looked at each other for a moment and Dean tried not to frown too hard under Vasiliev’s watchful eye, with only the scribble of his pencil on paper to disturb the silence.

The silence stretched out to its very breaking point before the doctor put the pad beside him, the motion catching the attention of the two men opposite him. “Gentlemen,” he said, kindly, “communication is the bedrock of a relationship. You have other problems I’m sure, but believe me when I say that good communication can solve anything. Right now, you are failing to communicate with each other-”

“We talk!” Dean protested, suddenly, feeling Cas look over at him in surprise, but he could write it off as good acting. He pretty much had to seeing as he couldn’t quite place why he should get so defensive over a relationship he wasn’t actually in.

“Allow me to rephrase that,” Vasiliev said, without a hint of reproach, “right now you are failing to _honestly_ communicate with each other. Castiel, you seem to be more open but you are not expressing your actual feelings, probably because you fear how Dean will react. Dean, Castiel has that fear because you aren’t open about anything. Your own lack of communication encourages Castiel to remain quiet, which in turn reinforces your justification for not saying anything important and the cycle continues. The good news is, if you were just willing to be more honest with each other then there is no reason why you cannot have a fulfilling relationship.”

Dean caught Cas’ eye and saw him shift slightly in the chair, knowing that he’d just dropped his angel blade into easy reach. Under the guise of scratching an itch, Dean reached under his jacket, his fingers tracing the line of the gun there, the one with the witch killing bullets. Vasiliev was still talking about the importance of honesty in any relationship and Dean steeled himself. Any minute now. Whatever spell or hex the guy was working was surely about to be unleashed.

“As this was your first session, we will leave it there for now. You can go away, consider what I’ve said and decide if you think this type of counselling is good for you. Neither of you mentioned any external pressures, no family problems, addictions, financial strains so unless there is a stumbling block you haven’t mentioned yet there is no reason why just speaking openly with each other can’t get you back on track.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas relax, though not completely, and he took his fingers away from the gun. There had been no hex and the doctor was rising, assuring them that they could have another appointment when they were ready but that they didn’t need to book one right away. Dean shook his hand again, regretting it again when his hand almost returned crushed. He was a little reassured at how nice the guy seemed to be. Maybe he was just a good therapist? Cas didn’t seem convinced, frowning at the handshake but saying nothing. He followed Dean out and neither of them made an appointment, settling to step into the car park, deliberately not saying anything until they were safe in the Impala.


	4. Chapter 4

The Impala had barely pulled into the motel’s car park when Sam appeared, pulling the door to their cabin closed behind him. He slid into the backseat, not pausing to quibble with Castiel over who would ride shotgun and handed Dean a slip of paper, “we need to go here. _Now_. It’s a cabin just out of town, we probably passed it coming in.”

“What’s there?” Cas asked.

“So get this,” Sam said, leaning forward so he was between Dean and Cas, backseat notwithstanding, “I was doing some research into our missing Elijah Smith. Turns out, the Smiths own a little cabin up by the lake. The day he went missing, their security alarm went off so the company called their number. They got through to him, but they didn't send an officer out to check it, so he must have told them it was alright.”

“How did you find this?” Dean asked, pulling back onto the main street.

Sam gave a small shrug, “hacked the phone records. It might be nothing, he hadn’t been reported missing by that point, but,” he shrugged again, “I got a hunch.”

Cas turned in his seat, “a hunch?”

“How was Vasiliev?” Sam asked, eagerly. Too eagerly. Dean glared at him through the rearview mirror but Sam just smiled back, a picture of innocence. Cas and Dean exchanged brief glances, but neither of them spoke. “Well...did he do anything odd?” Sam prompted, sitting back at last.

Eventually, Cas sighed, “we’re uncertain. He did talk at great length about the importance of honesty-”

“-but that’s what these guys do, right? I mean it might just have been therapy talk,” Dean interrupted, continuing the thought they had both shared but not resolved on the drive to the motel.

“Hm,” Sam muttered, and Dean recognised his ‘I’m concentrating, shut up and let me think,’ face, but he didn’t seem to get anywhere. “Anything else?”

Dean briefly threw his hands up, off the wheel, in a gesture of defeat.

“So nothing witchy about it?”

“He gave Cas some really weird looking tea,” Dean said, trying to think of something, anything, that might be construed as unusual. If it wasn’t Vasiliev then they really had nothing.

“Sbiten,” Cas muttered, earning a ‘bless you,’ from Dean. “It wasn’t tea, Dean,” he added, somehow managing to vocalise his eye roll, “it was sbiten, syt, it’s an old European drink. It pre-dates tea.”

“And you drank it?!” Sam snapped, from the backseat.

“It was refreshing, though unusual that he should offer it over breakfast tea.” Cas managed to make it sound like he was observing the weather, rather than a potential witch’s brew. “But, before you ask, I do not feel particularly compelled to be truthful beyond reason.”

“Dean?”

“I feel fine.” A thought struck him and he caught Sam’s eye through the mirror again, “Hey, Sam, I’ve told you I like your hair like that, right? It looks good, you don’t look like a hippy at all.” He paused, while Sam regarded him through narrow eyes. He waited a beat before he gave an almost cheery shrug, “and it seems I can lie, so. Go figure. Hey!” he snapped, as Sam jabbed his knee against the upholstery to jar Dean’s back, “watch the seats.”

“Dean,” Cas admonished, so Sam smirked until Cas turned a glare on him, “and you. Stop this.” Sam and Dean settled into their seats and Cas gave a small sigh. “For what it’s worth, Sam, I’ve always thought your hair was extremely practical for the hunting lifestyle.” There was silence for a moment, a beat too long, before Cas added, “it seems I too can lie.”

He caught Dean’s eye and gave him the widest grin.

Sam kicked Cas in the back too.

* * *

The cabin was nothing fancy. It looked just like one of Bobby’s hunting shacks he had dotted around the place, or the one Jody kept for emergencies. There was no car in the driveway, but the moment the Impala came to a stop, Dean clocked the movement at the window. Nothing major, just a twitch at the curtains and then it was gone, but it was enough to tell him that Sam’s hunch had been right. Someone was hiding out here and it was unlikely to be Mrs Smith. With nothing more than a series of hand signals and pointed looks, Dean managed to convey a plan without a word. Sam and Cas understood, or at least Sam did and he trusted Cas to follow along. It wasn’t a difficult plan to execute. Sam and Cas would knock the front door and Dean would circle round back to catch the guy in case he bolted.

Which he did.

Dean heard Sam call, “Elijah Smith?” just as the back door swung open and a man stumbled down the steps, running straight into Dean, too preoccupied on watching the house to notice where he was going.

“Hey!” the guy protested as soon as he realised Dean had him firmly by the arm and wasn’t letting go of him anytime soon, “hey you can’t do this!”

Sam and Cas appeared from the side of the house, having clearly heard the commotion and jogged round to assist Dean. “Elijah Smith?” Sam asked. The man seemed furtive, his eyes darting between the three of them as he tried, unsuccessfully, to pull his arm back from Dean. Sam held his hands up, moving forward slowly, looking surprisingly non-threatening given that he looked like he had at least a foot on the guy. “Look, we’re not here to hurt you, we just wanna ask you a few questions, that’s all.”

“Does my wife know I’m here?” the man asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

“No,” Sam assured him, “just us, it’s ok, we just wanna talk.” The man looked like he was about to fling his shirt off if it meant getting out of Dean’s grip so Sam just went for it, “we want to talk about what’s happened to you.” He stopped struggling, “maybe about how you can’t tell a lie for example.”

“I never wanted to hurt Cheryl,” Mr Smith started saying, once he’d calmed down enough to invite them inside the cabin. Not that he’d really invited them, so much as they’d let him go and followed him inside. Not that he’d really calmed down either, wringing his hands in his lap and glancing towards the door as though he expected the police to break it down at any moment. “But...I don’t know...something happened to me. I don’t know what, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone else had said it, but I just...I just couldn’t...”

“You couldn’t lie anymore?” Cas offered, almost surprised when Mr Smith looked up at him, aghast.

“It’s not that! I don’t lie to my wife, it’s just...I’m not always honest all the time, but,” he added, quickly, “not in a bad way! I mean….I love Cheryl. I do, I really do, I love her more than anything, but...it’s also hard being a carer and sometimes I need a break. Just an afternoon here and there, it’s why we have the nurse come in when she does. It’s not a big deal...” He trailed off and it was a while before he spoke again, “but...Cheryl asked me if I was going anywhere that week and I wanted to tell her about an exhibit at the museum I was thinking of checking out, but instead all I wanted to say was that I had to have a break to get away from being a carer, that I need a few hours a week to be myself and that I miss the days when I was just her husband.” He looked at the three of them, defeated, “why would I want to say that to her? I thought maybe I was just tired, but it kept happening. She asked me if I wanted to watch a movie and I wanted to say that I missed going to the cinema with her, doing stuff we used to do...”

Sam and Dean exchanged uncomfortable looks, this was a far cry from an affair or embezzling. But Cas was looking at the man with something between confusion and pity, “you know, it’s not a reflection on your feelings for your wife that you find being her primary caregiver difficult,” he said, gently. Dean’s jaw was somewhere on the floor.

“I know that,” the man hissed, “and she knows that it’s hard sometimes, but that doesn’t mean she has to hear it all the time. I’d never do that to her. She feels guilty enough without me adding to it...I won’t add to it.”

Cas sighed, “that’s why you chose to hide out here.”

“Can you tell us when this started happening?” Sam asked, falling easily into his kindly persona, “do you remember anything about that day, anything unusual at all?”

The guy shrugged, “Last Monday, I think? I don’t know. Nothing weird happened, I guess. Woke up, had breakfast, we had our therapy, had lunch-”

“Therapy?” Sam asked, “with Doctor Vasiliev?”

For a moment Cas looked over as though Sam had revealed too much with that particular bit of information, but Mr Smith was too distraught to notice, still wringing his hands and staring at the floor. “Yeah, we just went to see, you know? Just to keep us on track.”

“And did you drink anything while you were with him?” Cas asked, and finally, it seemed they had asked the wrong question. The guy looked up, puzzled and shook his head.

“No...why would that matter?”

“No reason,” Sam added, hastily and followed Dean’s lead in rising. They weren’t going to get anything more from him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean, Sam and Cas found themselves back in the diner, less because any of them wanted anything to eat and more because it was conveniently on their way back to the cabin. That’s what Dean thought anyway. In reality, he’d been driving and neither Sam or Cas realised where they were going until he’d already parked. Cas didn’t seem to mind, Sam gave a huff of disapproval but followed his brother in regardless.

“It must be Vasiliev, right?” Sam muttered, looking at the menu for no other reason than to occupy his hands.

Dean gave a shrug, while Cas seemed to be more interested in watching the diner’s patrons. “Well I'm fine, and Cas is fine even though he drank his weird tea-”

“Sbiten.”

“-whatever, so...I mean...what else we got?”

A waitress brought a bowl of fried pickles and those cheese things Dean had enjoyed, placing them down while Sam scoffed and Cas turned a confused look to Dean. “I’m surprised you’re hungry given that you had a sizeable lunch.”

Dean shrugged, “I’m not hungry, I just like deep-fried foods.”

It had been a simple enough comment. One that Sam and Cas would have expected from Dean and so they continued mulling ideas over the table, ‘...maybe we missed a connection?’ ‘We should go back to their calendars and compare...’ until Sam noticed that Dean’s face had drained of all colour.

“Dean? You ok?”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Dean stuttered, “I mean...I was going to make a joke about being a growing boy, I don’t know why I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

For a moment the implications were lost on Cas and Sam, until Sam straightened in the booth, “oh. _Oh._ Ok, Dean. Try and lie to me.”

“and say what?!”

Sam practically threw his hands up in exasperation, “I don’t know,” his eyes fell on the menu he’d left on the table, “how do you feel about vegan food?”

Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust and let out a snort of disapproval, “I love it.”

Rubbing his temples, Dean could see Sam trying to figure out what was going on when Cas glanced over and said, “I don’t understand, I thought you hated vegan food?”

“Well yeah, hunters have such a short lifespan I never really saw the point in ‘looking after myself’ given that I’m probably gonna get ganked by something sooner rather than later. May as well enjoy myself, y’know?”

There were a few beats of silence where Dean and Sam absorbed what he had said, before Dean’s hand shot to cover his mouth and he glared at Sam, almost accusatory. “What the hell?” he shouted.

“So...you can’t lie to Cas?” Sam asked, slowly, connecting the dots in his mind.

“That would make sense,” Cas said, quietly from beside Dean, seemingly entirely unfazed by the idea.

“How does any of this make sense?!” Dean snapped.

“We went to see Doctor Vasiliev together as a couple. If it is the Doctor doing this then it would make sense that you wouldn’t be able to lie to your ‘partner’.”

“You know, I’ve always wished-” Dean started but immediately stopped himself, practically shoving Cas out of the booth so he could get past him. “No, no, no, this is not happening,” they heard him snap as he left the two of them behind, practically bolting for the exit. Cas stared after him, not even picking himself up from the floor where he’d landed, oblivious to the way people were staring at them.

Opposite him Sam slid from the chair, “I’ll...I’ll go check on him, wait here, Cas,” he said, awkwardly, hurrying after his brother.

Outside, Dean was braced against the Impala, his head bowed between his shoulders almost as though he were trying to calm himself. Even at a distance, Sam could see the back of his shoulders heaving as Dean sucked down heavy breaths.

“Hey, you ok?”

Sam moved to stand next to him, so he could see his brother’s face. Dean glared at him, but Sam recognised the fear behind his gaze. “What the hell, Sammy?”

“Dean-”

“What the hell?!” Dean shouted and Sam took a step back, surprised to see his brother so angry, “I almost told Cas-” he broke off quickly, “doesn’t matter.”

“Dude,” Sam breathed, “we live our lives next to each other. We don’t do anything without each other and all our friends are dead, what are you so worried you’re going to say to him?”

By way of an answer, Dean glared at his brother, surprised when Sam met his eye. He was even more surprised when he said, “oh... _that_. Dean, I’m pretty sure he knows. We all know, Dean.”

It seemed incredibly unfair to Dean that Sam could lean against Baby so casually, talking about _that_ with such nonchalance. His glare bored into the side of Sam’s skull, but Sam didn’t flinch from it. In the end, Dean settled for an eloquent, an inspired, “shut the hell up, Sam.”

“Ok,” Sam sighed, “but you’re gonna have to have a conversation with him, we need to figure this out.”

“Fine, go get him,” Dean grunted, opening slipping into the car.

“Dean-”

“Go get him, Sam, and tell him not to ask me anything, alright? I don’t wanna drive Baby into a tree to get out of an awkward conversation, ok?”

Sam glared at his brother for a beat longer, before he relented and turned back to grab Cas. Dean didn’t say a word when they got back into the car and he was relieved that Cas didn’t try and speak. Despite that, when Dean glanced in the rearview and saw Cas staring pointedly out of the window, an unreadable expression on his face, he couldn’t help but feel his stomach clench nervously. Whether Vasiliev was a witch or not one thing was clear, this case really was going to kill him.

* * *

Even though it was dark, it was still way too light for the Winchesters to be getting away with what they were doing. Between the streetlights, the solar-powered garden lamps and the fact that the moon seemed to be unseasonably bright, Dean was surprised they hadn’t been arrested the moment they’d cut the Impala’s engine. Sam was on his knees on the porch, lockpick in hand while Dean kept a lookout, but despite their suspicious behaviour in an undoubtedly affluent neighbourhood, all was quiet.

In the silence Dean could hear his brother working up to say something, he’d been working on it since they’d left the motel and probably a bit before that.

“You know-” Sam started, but Dean immediately cut him off.

“Can it, Sammy,” he grunted and took off for a brief walk around the house, ostensibly so he could make sure no one was watching them. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it at the motel and he certainly didn’t want to talk about it now. It had been hard enough to be in the same room as Cas, to know that every word out of his mouth might be the one to doom him. And it hadn’t helped that Cas kept looking at him, his head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowed. He looked somewhere between annoyed and hurt and when he’d blurted out, “what exactly do you think you’re going to say to me that will be so terrible, Dean?”

Thankfully, even Sam had thought that one was a little below the belt and his brother’s immediate reaction was enough to cover the stream of words that had already begun falling from Dean’s lips, while he ran for the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Through the thin wood of the door, Dean had heard the muffled conversation between Sam and Cas. He hadn’t made out words, just tone – Sam pleading and exasperated, Cas annoyed and tired. Dean screwed his eyes up and rested his forehead against the cold mirror above the sink. This was not how it was supposed to be going. This was not how Dean had envisioned it all coming out in more ways than one.

There had been silence for a moment, awkward shuffling and then, the clear rap of Cas’ knuckles against the door. “Dean,” he rasped, “I’m- I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly, “I uh...won’t ask you anything directly, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean had remained silent, forcing his mouth to remain closed. He hadn’t trusted himself to get through even the most rudimentary of conversations without opening his heart to Cas. He’d waited a moment, until the desire to throw open the door and shout at Cas that it wasn’t Cas making him uncomfortable it was this damned curse had passed, before he’d opened the door and slumped back into the room, carefully avoiding eye contact with Cas, noting that Cas was doing the same.

First, Sam had wanted to see if Cas was affected so Dean had to ask Cas a question and Cas had to lie in response. Of course, put on the spot like that, the only thing Dean had come up with had been a mumbled, “you ok?”

To which Cas had snapped, “no, my best friend keeps running out on me-”

“Hey!” Dean had shouted over him before he could stop himself, “that’s not your fault ok, that’s on me, I just don’t want-”

“Guys!” Sam had cut across them, exasperated, and it was a good thing too because honestly, Dean was getting tired of running out of rooms every time Cas asked him something. “That wasn’t a lie, was it Cas?”

But Cas had sighed, “I try to be honest in all my dealings with you both, deception tends to lead us into awkward situations, like that time I became a God-”

“Unleashed the Leviathan-” Dean offered.

“Raised Sam without his soul-”

“Let Lucifer in, that was a bad move-”

“Guys!” Sam cried again, but Dean and Cas had exchanged a small smile and for a moment things were normal again. For a moment. “Cas, come on. Dean, ask him something he can lie about.”

Dean had thought for a moment, “What’s your favourite pie, Cas?”

“I don’t need to eat so my opinion favourable or otherwise is-” Cas trailed off, catching sight of one of Sam’s finest bitch faces. “Blueberry,” he said, quietly, “my favourite flavour of pie is blueberry.”

“Blueberry? Seriously?” Dean’s nose had curled a little, “well that’s obviously a lie.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, “Ok, so it’s just Dean then. Right, let’s go through what happened at the session again, don’t leave anything out.”

But going over their time with the good doctor revealed nothing and it wasn’t helped when Cas insisted that there had been something off about Vasiliev, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it had been...

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam whispered in his direction and Dean turned to see that he’d managed to unlock the door. The two of them slipped inside, pulling out their flashlights. The doctor’s house was the last lead they had, if they couldn’t find anything here, they were stuck. A cursory glance around the ground floor had Dean’s stomach sinking, it looked pretty normal. In fact, it looked ridiculously normal. Just a standard apartment that belonged to someone who had more wealth than Dean was used to dealing with.

“It’s not too late for me to call Cas,” Sam whispered, checking through the titles on the bookcase, looking for something that might be construed as unusual. Given how quickly he moved on, Dean could only assume there was nothing. He didn’t grace Sam with an answer. Cas had wanted to come, he’d almost insisted he should, but Dean had argued against it (to Sam of course, never directly to Cas). Cas suggested that Dean should be the one to stay behind, but to their surprise, it was Sam who had disagreed with that. Turns out, when the last few guys who had exhibited these symptoms of the curse or whatever it was, had ended up dead or missing Sam wasn’t too keen on letting his brother out of his sight.

Dean headed back into the hallway, glancing into the driveway just to assure them that the doctor hadn’t come home from whatever event Sam had said he’d gone to. The guy should have set his online calendar to private. There was upstairs to check, but Dean’s eye was drawn by a crack of dim light seeping from underneath what he’d assumed had been a closet. The door was built into the stairway and Dean expected to open it and find coats, shoes and maybe a string light accidentally left on. He hadn’t expected to find stairs leading down into a basement; wooden and comparatively rickety given that the rest of the house was all white plastics and chrome. There were candles lit in the basement, the light was too dim to be anything else and Dean gave a brief whistle. Sam appeared at his side and they both exchanged a look before throwing hands to see who was going to down first.

Sam won. Of course, Sam won, so Dean rolled his eyes and flashed his torch, stepping tentatively onto the first step, as though afraid that it might collapse beneath his weight. The steps held though they creaked ominously as they shuffled down them. Sam threw a worried glance back up to the door, if the doctor was to come back now they likely wouldn’t hear him.

Once again, the house managed to subvert Dean’s expectations entirely. In his experience, basements belonging to people who were probably monsters were rarely homely. Dean had seen it all; torture dungeons, feeding chambers, human pantries, human remains, animal remains, children in cages and of course he’d seen the basements which were just that.

“Wow,” he muttered under his breath, as Sam emerged beside him. They clicked their flashlights off and slipped them into their pockets in sync, there was no need for them down here. The room was brightly lit, though not by the candles Dean had suspected. There was an open log fire burning in the fireplace, and the two of them wandered closer, looking around themselves suspiciously. Everything was rustic wood and homely cloth, it looked more like a hunting lodge than a basement and it bore almost no relation to the house they had left upstairs. Sam was looking at some decorated fabrics hanging on the walls, Dean frowned over an earthenware vase, running his finger over its rim, “check this out, Sam. This is old. Real old.”

“So is this,” Sam muttered, his attention drawn to what looked like a type of tapestry, “I don’t recognise the language either...I mean, some kind of runes maybe...but...”

“Sam,” Dean called, in his ‘get over here and look at this’ voice.

It was nothing special, as rustic and unassuming as the rest of the room; a small wooden table, covered in a faded, woven cloth. In its centre were two carved wooden figures; smooth, small and simple. They were about the size of Dean’s fist and engraved to look like a man and a woman, or at least the image of a man and a woman, the type of thing that might be found in a mead hall in Moondoor. Beside them stood two candles, ringed with fresh flowers and Dean turned to his brother with a small shrug, “looks witchey?”

But Sam wasn’t convinced and honestly, neither was Dean. “I dunno,” Sam sighed, “I mean...it’s unusual but it doesn’t have the usual witch vibe, huh?” Dean nodded, reluctantly. Sam might be right. There were no runes, no weird spell ingredients, no bodily fluids spattered about the place, but still...it was weird. Sam brought his phone out and started snapping pictures of everything in the room. “Maybe Cas will recognise something?” he said when Dean turned to him eyebrow raised. “At the very least he’ll know what language this is.” He snapped a close up of the altar if it could be called that, and the hangings on the wall.

Sam had slipped the phone back into his pocket when they heard the distant sound of a car door slam. The brothers caught each other’s eye, Sam turning an ashen colour as Dean grabbed him and forced him up the stairs, _quickly_. There was a car in the driveway and any second now Doctor Vasiliev would be coming in through the front door. In the time it took to blink Dean had his gun out and the safety off, ready to let off a shot but Sam pushed the gun down harshly. For a moment, the two of them glared at each other, despite their imminent discovery. A conversation passed between them just by an exchange of looks – Dean wanted to blow the guy away; the guy was up to something and he wanted to be able to talk to Cas again. Sam understood, but they hadn’t seen enough to prove this guy was to blame. He kept his hand firmly on the gun, not letting it up until Dean’s grip relaxed and with barely a nod he switched the safety back on, tucking it into his belt. The sound of keys slipping into the lock caught their attention and Sam pulled Dean harshly into the kitchen. They were out the back door as they heard Vasiliev let the front door click shut and flick on the lights. Behind them, Sam closed the door as quietly as he could, before the two took off past the garden, waiting in the bushes before they could retrieve the Impala.


	6. Chapter 6

From the corner of the cabin, Dean watched Sam and Cas work. Sam was searching the internet for references to what they’d seen and Cas was scrutinising the images on Sam’s phone. In theory, Dean was helping out too, flicking through his dad’s journal to see if there was anything in there, but he already knew there wasn’t. He knew this book cover to cover. Instead, he was watching Cas work, uncomfortable to be in the same room as him and annoyed at himself for being uncomfortable. Cas had answered the door to them and once the relief that they hadn’t been lost in what should have been a simple recon faded he returned to glaring at Dean in silence. Or at least he had until Sam had handed him his phone and he’d settled at the table, flicking between the photographs. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him and all he was doing was sitting. But there was something about it all, the way he was still wearing his trench coat, did he ever take the damned thing off? The way he brought his face right up to the screen even though there was a perfectly serviceable zoom function available. The tilt of his head, the frown that wrinkled his brow, all of it was just so _Cas_. Mannerisms that Dean was quite used to, but still found endearing nonetheless. He was beginning to understand why the afflicted spouses had put some distance between them and their partners, though he wasn’t quite ready to bite a bullet just yet. There was something horribly vulnerable about sitting there and chewing on his lip just so he didn’t blurt out, “Cas, I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Thankfully at the very moment Dean opened his mouth, hopefully not to say just that, they were interrupted by muffled shouts coming from outside. The three of them glanced up at the window, even though the curtains were drawn and it was dark outside so they couldn’t have seen anything, anyway. Out of habit if nothing else, Dean rose, tucked his gun into his belt and with a nod at Sam, he opened the door to see what was happening.

Illuminated by the artificial glow of lampposts, Dean could see the handsy couple in the parking lot, though for once they weren’t locked at the lips and hips, instead, they seemed to be screaming at each other, though Dean couldn’t discern actual words in what they were saying. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he saw the motel owner standing in the doorway of the cabin, watching the scene with obvious horror. He jogged over to her, concerned that they’d hurt her in some way before they’d turned on each other but as he approached he saw that there wasn’t anything physically wrong with her, though her shock was apparent.

“You ok, ma’am?”

Stacia turned to him, shaking her head, she sounded as though she were close to tears, “no, I don’t understand, they were so happy...”

She trailed off at the distinctive crack of a palm on a cheek and they looked up in time to see the guy recoil as his no longer lover stalked away from him, still screaming, though this time they could make out the occasional phrase.

“ _Don’t even know me...Can’t believe you didn’t tell me...Never want to see you again_...”

Besides making an obvious spectacle of themselves though, there didn’t seem to be much going on beyond a typical lover’s tiff and Dean felt himself relax, the hunter lifestyle had always taught him to fear the worst. The woman took off in a screech of brakes that made Dean wince to hear it, and the guy sheepishly picked himself up and hurried back into his cabin. As quickly as the still night had been broken it returned to silence and Dean suddenly felt a little awkward standing there like that next to the older woman, as though they were just a couple of gossips watching a scene.

Stacia broke the mood with a dramatic sigh, “such a pity, they were so good for each other. So much passion...” she trailed off, sadly and turned to Dean, suddenly perking up as though she’d just realised he was there. “Ah, but what is wrong, lapochka?” she cried, “why so sad?” her hands were on his cheeks, in a way that reminded him of a grandmother he’d never had. For a moment Dean let her turn his face one way and then the other, more taken aback by the sudden contact than because he didn’t mind her doing it. She was frowning, deeply, “you’ve fallen out with your handsome angel!”

Thankfully, Dean realised that she was talking metaphorically before he yanked himself out of her touch and pulled his gun on her. Angel wasn’t an uncommon endearment and Cas was handsome…which was surely more a statement of fact than opinion anyway. Besides, hadn’t they leaned into each other and held hands earlier to convince her of just that? So he detached herself from her gently and gave a small shrug, “yeah well, marriage counselling...you know,” he smiled, weakly, noticing that her frown grew even deeper if it were possible, but best to stick to their cover story, even here, even now.

She tapped his cheek affectionately, “as long as you love each other, lapochka, you will be ok.” She gestured over Dean’s shoulder and he glanced back to see Cas standing in the doorway of their cabin, looking out over the lot at Dean and Stacia, no doubt checking to see what was keeping Dean now that the shouting had died down. In spite of everything, Dean felt the smile spread across his lips; there was always something inherently comforting at seeing Cas.

“Go on,” Stacia said, brusquely, shooing him towards his ‘partner’, “you go make things right with your angel!”

Even though Dean had been the one to come out and check if she was ok, he got the distinct impression he was being dismissed and he made his way to Cas with an amused grin.

“Are you ok?” he asked, as soon as Dean came up to the door.

“Sure, just some kids breaking up,” answered Dean, grateful for the innocuous question he didn’t need to avoid, “you guys got anything.”

“Maybe,” Cas grumbled, shutting the door behind Dean who turned to him expectantly, “dievas,” he said, looking between Sam and Dean, “I think we’re dealing with a dievas.”

Dean exchanged a blank look with his brother, “divas?”

“ _Dee-yeah-vaas_ ,” Cas said, slowly, enunciating every part of the word while glaring at Dean.

“Great!” Dean grinned, “now what the hell is that and how do we kill it?”

Sliding Sam’s phone back across the table to him, Cas sighed, “Dievas are Slavic Gods, much like the lesser Gods you’ve faced before, but as for how to kill them, I have no idea. It explains the sbiten at least. The Slavs used to drink it before tea found its way to Europe. It’s a mixture of boiled honey and water flavoured with cloves and cinnamon, so in a way it’s nothing like tea at all, but it was as popular hence why Vasiliev would call it tea I suppose...” he trailed off, aware that Sam and Dean were both looking at him during his ramblings. “What?”

“You’re awesome, Cas,” Dean said, before Sam could answer, “really, you’re awesome.”

Cas gave a shrug that didn’t quite hide his smile, but Sam was already typing furiously on the keyboard before him, “ok, so we know what it is, let’s see if we can find out how to kill it.”

Over an hour later and not one of the cabin’s occupants would have thought that discovering how to kill the thing would be the hardest part of the case, especially given how hard it had been to identify the damned thing in the first place.

“C’mon Cas,” Dean snapped, “you’ve been around for like forever, you must have killed one of these guys before.”

“No Dean, I’ve never killed a Slavic God before. Forgive me, I’ve never had cause to,” Cas snapped back, equally exasperated.

“Guys, this isn’t helping,” Sam muttered, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes; he’d been staring at a screen with no results for too long.

From his corner of the room, Dean felt a pang of guilt, more from the way he’d snapped rather than Sam’s words and before he could second guess it, he heard himself saying, “I’m sorry, Cas. I got frustrated and took it out on you, that wasn’t fair.”

What made it worse was the way Cas and Sam stared at him, his brother looking at him wide-eyed and surprised. It hadn't been _that_ bad, but it probably said a lot for how often Dean was inclined to apologise that when he did they’d stare at him like the world was ending.

“I’m sorry too, Dean,” Cas said, quietly and for a moment the two of them smiled at each other, relieved that they could actually interact on some level with this curse and Dean not have to chew his own tongue off.

“Hey!” Dean and Cas were still smiling at each other when Sam’s shout caught their attention, “I’ve got something.”

“You know how to kill him?”

Sam winced, “not quite, but I think I know who we’re dealing with.” He swung his laptop around to face Dean so Cas had to shift himself over to see it. “I looked up those statues that we found in his house. It’s Siebog, the God of love and marriage, the other one is Ziva, Goddess of love and fertility. Siebog is her consort.”

“Ok and this tells us how to kill it, how?”

The pride Sam had felt at figuring out who they were dealing with faltered a little in the face of his brother’s question, and he slumped a little. “Still working on it, but!” he added, hopefully, “this might explain how he could compel people to be honest with their spouses without hexing them or a spell. If he’s the God of marriage and love and whatever, maybe he has some power over that.”

Dean snorted, “what kind of marriage God can’t tell when people are fake married?”

“Either way,” Sam sighed, “we still have to figure out how to kill him.”

It was another hour before any of them spoke again, beyond Dean’s muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, check this out,” Sam called, leaning forward as though to better see whatever he had pulled up on the laptop, “in the nineteenth century when Bram Stoker was researching his novel, Dracula, he drew inspiration from European legends and folklore including Vlad the Impaler and Dievas.” Sam’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he searched for something else, “according to Stoker’s original notes, Dracula was resistant to conventional injury, which fits with what we’ve seen in other Gods, and could only be destroyed through,” he winced, “oh...through dismemberment or incineration.”

Rising from his seat, Cas leaned over behind Sam to frown at the screen, “that fits with what we know of lesser Gods in general, but Slavic Gods are known for their strength, how are we going to dismember him?”

“There are three of us,” Dean shrugged, “but, it does sound like it’s gonna get messy. We’re gonna have to get the hell out of dodge afterwards.”

Smirking at his brother Sam said, “we won’t be able to stop for another burger,” but he was surprised when Dean didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll just be glad to get out of here,” he muttered, deliberately not looking at Castiel.

* * *

They had a plan. It wasn’t a great plan, there were several things that could go wrong and they weren’t entirely sold on the idea that just going to town on the good doctor with the sturdiest of their blades would actually do anything. Hopefully, incinerating the remains would help, though Sam had managed to talk Dean down from just setting fire to the house and letting the blaze take care of it. Cas hadn’t said much, relying on brief nods or short answers if he needed to say anything at all. On one hand, Dean was grateful, the less Cas talked, the less likely it was that Dean would say something he couldn’t control. On the other, he missed hearing Cas’ voice and he bristled at the way Cas had felt the need to clam up just to spare Dean embarrassment. He missed their easy conversations and he hated how it seemed to be taking every ounce of his self-control not to outright say that to Cas.

Sam at least was satisfied that Dean had enough of a handle on the curse that he didn’t need watching all the time so when Dean chose to stay behind at lunchtime, choosing to sharpen their blades than eat, Sam didn’t push it. Though Cas promised they’d bring him something back and it bothered Dean to no end when the angel looked as though Dean had given him the sun just for saying a simple, “I’d appreciate that.”

While it was surely a sign of how wrong things were that Dean had elected not to eat, nobody could deny that he hadn’t done a good job on the blades. He’d sharpened the machetes, usually reserved for vamp killing duty and a handful of pocket knives in case they lost their main blade. Not that the knives would do much, but they were better than nothing. “What’s this?” he asked Cas who handed him a surprisingly hefty burger wrapped in foil.

Cas fished into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper, “it’s a Bacon Deluxe. Two quarter-pounders, topped with bacon, cheese, bacon bits and our famous baconaise sauce,” he read and added, “the onions were fried in bacon fat which is also what the buns were toasted in.”

Behind them, Sam almost retched, “seriously? I feel like I’m going to need a coronary just from listening to that.”

But Dean was positively beaming at Cas when he said, “Cas, this is one of the many reasons why I love you,” and thank God it was the kind of thing Dean usually said when someone gave him a burger because as Dean froze, Cas just smiled and moved away, seemingly oblivious to what Dean had just done.

* * *

The sun had set before Dean went out to the lot to load up Baby, but he still did a double and triple check to make sure there was no one around before he popped the boot. Thankfully, he’d parked her facing the cabins so if anyone came out he’d see them before they saw him...or worse the armoury he was toting in Baby’s trunk. He could see Stacia at her cabin window, cooking by the looks of it, her sleeves rolled up as she pounded what looked like dough on a surface. He gave her a wave, but she didn’t return it, so he was satisfied she hadn't noticed him.

He slipped the duffle bag that held the knives and everything else he’d sharpened earlier that day into the trunk, taking a moment to scan the rest of their weapons to see if there wasn’t something he’d missed. There wasn’t much point taking a gun, not if the guy was as beefed up as the lore suggested, but then they didn’t exactly have much in the way of God-killing bullets so it probably wouldn’t help anyway. Dean missed the Colt. His eyes found their dad’s old faithful, Lucille, tucked in a corner and his fingers traced her handle; she might be useful in a pinch. Pulling his hand back he sighed, pretty hard to conceal though and if a neighbour saw them they wouldn’t be able to explain that one away.

The trunk slammed shut and Dean almost fell onto the tarmac when he saw that Cas was standing right next to Baby, hidden until right that moment. He didn’t fall, instead, a gave a sharp, furious inhale and smacked his palm against the Impala, “ _Jesus, Cas_! We gotta get you a bell or something, man.” Cas shifted apologetically, dropping his eyes to the ground. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, suspiciously, his eyes moving to look behind the angel. Sam wasn’t here and Dean was immediately gripped with the panic at being out here with Cas, alone.

Cas regarded him for a moment, as though debating whether or not to say whatever it was that he clearly wanted to say. This did little to put Dean at ease, in fact, he was surprised Stacia hadn’t come out to see what the noise was given how loudly his heart seemed to be pounding in his ears.

“Dean...are we ok?” he asked eventually and dammit, Dean could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Cas-” he started, but Cas cut him off.

“I’m not trying to make things “awkward” Dean,” oh God, the air quotes, adorable, “but we’re about to go into hand to hand combat with a Slavic God on whom the lore is scant at best and if this goes wrong-”

“It won’t ok? We’ve faced worse odds and against things worse than some old God with a name out of an IKEA catalogue.”

Cas grinned, despite everything Dean could still make him laugh. “Dean, that’s very disrespectful to their culture.”

Dean grinned back, “we’re about to go dismember the guy, Cas, I think he can take a ribbing over his name.”

It was nice that they could laugh like this, Dean thought, without him having to fight off the urge to say something wholly inappropriate. But for as long as Cas didn’t ask anything particularly probing they’d be alright.

Naturally, that was when Cas decided to ask something particularly probing.

“I’m not going to ask you what it is you’re hiding from me, Sam has already told me, at length, how unfair such a question is, but I would like to know why you feel like you need to hide whatever this is...”

The sound that escaped Dean was hardly dignified, and he had to shove his hand into his mouth before the words started tumbling out. Of course, they tumbled out anyway, but Cas couldn’t make them out around Dean’s shirt sleeve. Dean might have been angry that Cas had asked him a question he couldn’t help but answer, but that anger became an almost incandescent rage when Cas yanked his arm away in time to hear the tail end of his ramblings,

“- and I wish you’d just respect that I never wanted you to know because I knew that you’d just leave and never come back if you did.”

It should have been comical, Dean having to stuff his sleeve in his mouth the way that he did, but instead, the two of them glared at each other. Even though Cas looked as though Dean had physically struck him, for the moment Dean couldn’t get past the anger that Cas had heard what he had in the first place.

“Fine,” Cas spat, after too a long silence. Far too long. “Fine,” he said, again, with greater certainty this time and he turned on his heel and stalked into the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

Dean kicked one of Baby’s tyres in frustration, but he wasn’t about to go after Cas, not when he knew he’d end up coming clean if he did. There was an hour or so to go before they had planned to set out so Dean jumped into the car and turned some tunes on. He’d wait there until Sam came out and Cas could do what he liked. Across the lot, Stacia gave him a sad wave, having come out to fetch some ice and if Dean hadn’t been as worked up as he was, he might have wondered how long she had been outside and how much she might have heard.

Sam came out a while later, his face grim, but he didn’t say anything to Dean about the argument he clearly knew all about. He insisted on driving over with Cas, and Dean didn’t push it, a little grateful that he didn’t have to endure any strained conversations with his brother. This whole case had been one of the most awkward he’d endured and he’d had his fair share of embarrassing situations. When this was all over he was going to have to have a conversation with Cas. He didn’t want to, Dean would have been perfectly happy, well not happy but comfortable at least, to spend the rest of his life keeping certain truths from the angel. But, he hated the thought that Cas felt he was being lied to, no, he _knew_ he was being lied to and he wasn’t happy about it. Of course, he wasn’t. Dean parked up a little way from Vasiliev’s house and killed the engine. He was going to tell Cas the truth, maybe, if Chuck was feeling merciful, Cas would understand.

* * *

  
The house was in darkness when they arrived. Even the solar lamps seemed to be dimmer than they had the night before, or maybe that was just because of the late hour.

“Do you think he’s home?” Sam asked, quietly.

Dean took in the quietness of the street, the darkness of the houses and muttered, “he better be.”

The three of them checked and double-checked that they had their blades to hand, and a knife within easy reach if things got hairy, which they undoubtedly would, because when had things ever gone to plan for them? The sense of foreboding was not lessened when Sam moved to pick the lock of the front door again, only to find the handle yield easily under his hand. He exchanged a grim look with his brother and the three of them slipped into the door, clicking on the flashlights.

Like the night before there was nothing out of the ordinary about the house. They moved quietly, with barely a rustle of fabric between them, following each other through the house but there was nothing downstairs. Dean had taken point and had moved to the bottom of the stairway before Sam gestured to grab his attention, pointing to the door they knew led to the basement. Once again, there was a crack of light pouring at the point where the door met the floor. Sam’s hand was on the handle when Cas touched his shoulder to stop him, pushing himself forward, seeming to listen to something on the other side of the door. He listened for a moment before he turned back to the brothers and gesturing to the door he nodded.

Dean didn’t let them open the door, moving to be the first down the stairs. There was no way they were going to get down to the basement without making a noise, and if the guy was down there, Dean was going to make sure he was the first target he saw. As soon as he opened the door, he heard what Cas must have heard, the soft rumble of the doctor’s voice, singing something quietly but still loud enough for the sound to carry up the stairs.

‘ _Sto pa moru, sto pa moru_...’

The first creak of the stair seemed unnaturally loud, louder even than it had in the silence of the night before, but Vasiliev didn’t seem to notice. Or rather, he chose not to notice, there was no way he could have not heard the three of them descending the worn staircase however hard they tried to disguise it.

' _sto pa moru moru siniamu_...’

Dean paused after he stepped down from the staircase, Sam falling naturally beside him, Cas moving protectively in front. Doctor Vasiliev, the God, Siebog was sitting in a wooden chair before the comforting fire, a woven blanket draped over his shoulders as he flicked through the pages of a hardbound book. He must have known they were behind him and yet he still did not move, turning the pages casually, so casually Dean doubted he was actually reading them.

‘ _tam pavala, tam pavala_ -’

Dean glanced back at the two with him and Sam shook his head, recognising when his brother was about to do something stupid at best, ill-advised at worst. “What’s up, doc?” Dean called, and finally, the man stopped singing.

He did not turn though, remaining in his chair, his fingers still tracing the pages of the book. “Ah, the angel and his lover, I wondered when you’d be back.”

“You knew what I was?” Cas asked, only a little surprised.

“But of course, though I confess I was not entirely sure whether you were seeking me out to destroy me or because you genuinely needed help,” he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes resting on Dean, “your partner is surprisingly recalcitrant even by human standards. At first, I thought it was all a front to assess my abilities but after just a short conversation with you, anyone could see that your problems stem from Dean’s inability or unwillingness to speak honestly about his feelings-”

“Alright, that’s enough Doctor Phil,” Dean snapped, drawing his machete from his belt, “jokes on you, Cas and I aren’t a thing.”

That at least got something of a reaction from the God. He rose in surprise, the blanket falling from his shoulders and pooling on the floor. He looked between Dean and Castiel before he gave a short chuckle, “well, you may not be married in the traditional sense but of course you are a ‘ _thing_ ’. But,” he said before Dean could argue the point, “if the two of you wanted guidance in whatever this between the two of you then you could have just made an appointment. I assume you are hunters here to kill me.”

“You’ve killed four people,” Sam said, quietly, his hand on his own blade, ready to draw it.

Vasiliev waved him off, “oh please, I did no such thing.”

“You cursed them with your truth mojo and they killed themselves or each other over it,” Dean protested, feeling Sam and Cas inch away from him, almost imperceptibly. When Dean went for the guy, they’d come at him from the side, but they weren’t about to make it too obvious.

“Hardly my fault. My mojo, as you so crudely term it, is simply a manifestation of my power to preserve marriage. Is it my fault that they were hiding secrets so terrible that they were prepared to die for them? Or are you just angry that you are being compelled to tell your partner the truth for a change? Though why anyone would enter into a relationship with you without knowing your true feelings escapes me...”

“We’re not in a relationship,” Dean snapped again, increasingly annoyed at the Vasiliev kept waving it off.

“Of course not,” he replied, with the air of someone who was confident in the exact opposite. “Now, are you going to attempt to kill me, or will you leave peacefully? I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Gripping the handle of the machete tightly, Dean gave a small smile, “yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

* * *

It was a problem.

It was a considerable problem.

The lore had described Slavic Gods as strong, but hey, they’d faced strong before. This was worse. Siebog wasn’t strong in the sense that he could throw them around the room with a flick of his wrist, but he was strong in that his punches hurt. They hurt real bad. Dean was pretty sure his arm was broken, one of his ankles was screaming in pain but that might just be because he’d landed on it heavily after Siebog had thrown him over the chair and through a wooden table. He could feel one of his eyes swelling up from the impact of a particularly hard punch and from the way he was spitting out blood he was sure he’d lost a tooth, but there was something comfortingly physical about all this. Dean pulled himself up, rushing the God while his back was turned; he was holding Sam by the shoulder and driving his fist into his gut. Nearby Castiel was scrambling for the blade Siebog had knocked out of his hand a moment before. It reminded Dean of purgatory. This guy was strong, but it was just physical strength and Dean had survived far worse and those times he’d been on his own.

What little glimmer of hope this thought provided was swiftly snuffed out when he saw the God effortlessly throw Sam into Castiel, sending them sprawling, before he strode, casually, over to Dean, kicking the blade from his hand as he approached and breaking at least three of his fingers in the process. Siebog’s fingers curled around the collar of Dean’s shirt and lifted him off the ground, effortlessly. Muscle memory kicked in and Dean immediately relaxed, his body instinctively reacting to ensure the incoming strike did as little damage as possible, but the blow never came. Instead, Sam had launched himself at Siebog’s back and driven his knife into the guy’s shoulder. Or at least, that had been the attempt. Both brothers stared at the knife with something between horror and disbelief, it had practically bounced off him. Sam lunged forward trying to force it deeper into the cut he’d created, but Siebog seemed to be made of knife resistant muscle and even while holding Dean he reached out with his other hand and grabbed Sam around the neck.

They must have looked ridiculous, both Winchester brothers held aloft by the same guy who regarded them with wry amusement, as they both struggled to release themselves from his grip. Dean started hitting at the join of the God’s elbow, hoping, somewhat hopelessly, that he’d react the way a normal human would and drop him. Not so much for his sake, but for Sam who was struggling to take a breath in the man’s iron grip. Sam’s face had turned red from the effort of breathing and Dean was dimly aware that he’d screamed his brother’s name when his eyes had fluttered closed, a horrible choking sound coming from Sam’s lips.

And then suddenly they were on the floor. Sam rolled onto his back gasping down air reflexively, even with his eyes still closed and Dean, who had landed heavily on the already injured ankle, rolled towards him fully expecting to shield his brother from any oncoming blows. He wasn’t sure what had distracted Siebog, but he assumed Castiel had done something. It was a surprise to see Castiel trying to shake off what must have been a heavy blow to the head on the other side of the room. It was even more of a surprise to hear an admonishing shout from the stairway and when Dean looked over he saw Stacia standing there, her sleeves still rolled up from baking, spatters of flour on her apron, her hands on her hips glaring at Siebog as though he had affronted her just by existing.

He was on the verge of shouting out to her to run, inwardly Dean cursed himself for dragging a civilian into this, but before he could, it registered that the two of them were talking to each other, well...snapping at each other and the reason Dean couldn’t quite figure it out wasn’t because he’d hit his head but because he didn’t recognise whatever language they were shouting.

Castiel stumbled across the room to where Dean and Sam lay, but Siebog didn’t notice, in fact, his attention seemed to be solely on Stacia who, Dean noticed, was now roundly admonishing him, even though the specifics were lost on the hunter. Cas dropped heavily next to Dean and despite the fact that they’d argued and hadn’t said more than two words to each other since then, the concern was evident in his eyes, however unfocused they might be. His attention perked at something one of them had said and glancing over his shoulder at them, Cas called something in their language. Dean didn’t need to understand it to know from the way the two fixed Cas with an angry glare and barked out two words that the angel had just been roundly told to shut up.

“Cas, what’s going on? What the hell is she doing here? What the hell are they talking about?”

Cas spoke low, his attention half on Dean’s injuries, half on the scene behind them, “Siebog isn’t the only God in town, it seems.”

Beside them Sam was using Dean to pull himself up, his head fuzzy as he glanced between the two, “is that...”

“Sieva,” Cas muttered, “Siebog’s counterpart.”

Dean tried to stand up, but his leg protested too much, his ankle screaming in pain, “great, two of them, what are they saying?” He listened for a moment and realised that in whatever language it was clear they were angry with each other, “are they...are they fighting?”

Cas cocked his head, listening for a moment, “yes it would seem that they’ve been apart for some time-”

“They live in the same town,” Sam hissed, but the three of them fell silent when Stacia turned her attention to them and snapped at them.

“Only because this fool can’t do the simplest thing without drawing attention to himself,” she turned back to Siebog, “look at you! You’ve brought hunters down on yourself!”

Dean shifted his weight, wincing from the pain of such a simple movement, trying to ensure that if the blows resumed he’d be in the line of fire before Sam or Cas. But instead of resuming the assault, Siebog looked between them and his wife and started laughing.

“That is why you came!” he said, triumphantly, “you were worried about me!”

Stacia scoffed, folding her arms but though she looked away her cheeks had gone a distinct tinge of red. The hunters lay quite forgotten as Siebog stepped towards her, returning to their native language, speaking softly as he reached for her, even as she drew away.

“Cas, what the hell is going on?” Dean growled, wondering how they’d gone from fighting for their lives to witnessing a domestic among Gods.

With his head cocked to one side, Cas listened to the argument that had become softer now. “It seems they parted some time ago over a disagreement as to how best to fulfil their roles, Siebog prefers a more communicative approach whereas Sieva thinks that-”

“Cas!”

“Sorry...anyway they both seem to be having trouble admitting their feelings for each other-”

Over Siebog’s shoulder, Stacia scoffed loudly and let out a string of indecipherable words aimed at Cas, who blushed in response.

“Cas?” Sam asked, quietly, as the two went back to their fighting, but instead of answering Cas glanced at Dean and his expression hardened. “Cas?!”

“She said, that’s rich coming from us,” he mumbled, deliberately not looking at Dean and Dean felt himself blushing along with the angel. You never could tell how a hunt was going to go, but this was pushing the boundaries even for them. Cas looked up hopefully, listening, “but...she says I have a point and they have missed each other and- oh, uh...the conversation has become much more personal, I don’t think I’m comfortable repeating it.”

“Great,” Dean grumbled, quietly, “this isn’t exactly how I imagined we’d go.”

“Don’t be foolish, lapochka,” Stacia said, exasperated, and Dean’s stomach dropped to see that they had stopped talking to each other and instead had turned their attention back to the hunter. “This is not where you die.” She looked pointedly at Siebog and when he didn’t respond she nudged him harshly with her elbow.

“We shall not cause any more trouble,” the God sighed, earning another jab from his wife, “I shall not cause any more trouble, even though your efforts haven’t gone much better since you left-”

“Since I left?! If you hadn’t been such an insufferable, pompous-”

Even as they argued their hands found each other and they started up the stairs together, leaving Dean, Cas and Sam a crumpled heap on the floor. The front door slammed shut behind them and the sound seemed to reverberate in the silence around the three for a long time afterwards.

“Ok, what the hell just happened?” snapped Dean, trying to pull himself up and unable to stifle the yelp of pain that escaped him as he tried to do so.

Pushing himself to his feet, Cas was the first of them to stand, albeit unsteadily, “they left,” he said, pointedly, “it seems their respective failures in bringing people together stemmed from their own problems with each other, I imagine they’ve gone somewhere to work things out or whatever it is humans- well...Gods do in this situation.” Castiel reached out to both Dean and Sam, pressing his fingers against their foreheads and only stumbled a little from the effort of healing the worst of their injuries. As he fell Dean reached out and caught him before he could hit the floor.

“You idiot!” he snapped, “you didn’t need to do that.”

Cas rolled his eyes, “you both had multiple fractures, you’re welcome.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Sam breathed, already exasperated, “we need to figure this out, Dean?” But Dean clearly missed whatever unspoken question there had been and Sam rubbed his hand over his face as though that would help the frustration, “can you still lie to Cas?” he snapped, immediately regretting the bluntness of his words.

Looking over at Cas whose expression seemed harder than Dean could ever remember it he said, “no idea...Cas? Hit me.”

For a moment it looked as though Cas might, indeed, physically hit Dean, but instead, he settled for a quiet, “what is it you were so afraid of me finding out?”

Without missing a beat Dean said, “nothing,” and grinned outright as he did so. Cas did not grin. Sam picked up on the angel’s reaction and he shot a warning look at Dean before he could start celebrating the turn of events. Naturally, Dean chose to ignore it, feeling nothing but relief that he wasn’t about to spill his innermost feelings every time Cas looked at him.

“You two should go,” Cas said, harshly, “I have some things I need to check, not to mention someone should make sure they’re gone. I’ll follow after.”

“Cas,” Sam said, and it sounded like a warning, but Cas dismissed it.

“Go.”

Even though Cas had healed the worst of their injuries, it still hurt to move, so Dean reached for his brother so they could support themselves up the stairs. He glanced back to see that Cas hadn’t moved and seemed to be staring without seeing at the mess they’d made of the room.

“Cas?” he called, but Cas didn’t look at him. “Hey, Cas-”

“I remember the motel we were originally going to meet at, Dean. I’ll follow and meet you there.”

Exchanging a wordless look with his brother, Dean could see that Sam was as concerned as he was, but Cas still hadn’t so much as turned around to face them. Dean started them up the stairs, Cas would catch up with them later and then they’d have a conversation. Maybe by then Cas would have calmed down enough to hear it and Dean tried to ignore the pit in his stomach knowing that it would likely be the last conversation they ever had.


	7. Chapter 7

Usually, Dean looked forward to long drives when they didn’t have anywhere special to be. But right now, with his limbs aching and his eyes protesting, all he wanted to do was curl up in the backseat and sleep the rest of the week away. It wasn’t far to the motel they’d chosen as their escape at least, a couple of hours and they’d be settled. Cas would surely not be that far behind them.

He was fully expecting his brother to launch into a long talk about Dean and/or Cas, so it was a blessing when he seemed more preoccupied with committing what they’d learned about Slavic deities to paper. It was for their records he said, but Dean knew he just wanted to nerd out for a moment. Despite the undeniable pain he was in and that he wanted to sleep more than he remembered wanting to sleep in his life, Dean couldn’t help but smile as Sam rambled beside him, mostly talking to himself.

‘So although individually they were the Gods of love and marriage, d’you think their powers were weaker apart? I mean, it would make sense in a romantic way that together they were harmonious and apart they- hey do you think Siebog meant to affect those couples that way or was he covering for the fact that he knew what was wrong but didn’t want to do anything about it – maybe he didn’t know! Maybe this was the first time they’ve been apart in so long and they didn’t-’

Sam trailed off and for a moment Dean thought he had just gotten distracted by his own thoughts, until he let out a loud snort and when Dean glanced over he saw his brother had fallen asleep against the window, already drooling unattractively. With a deftness that belied just how often Dean had executed this particular movement, without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over to the back seat and pulled Sam’s coat towards them, flinging it gently over his brother. Switching on the music, he smiled, turning it down so it didn’t disturb Sam; he always got soft after a hunt.

* * *

Maybe it was something to do with how comparatively luxurious the cabin had been, but the motel looked even dingier than they were used to. Far too gone to appreciate anything beyond the need for sleep Dean checked them in and shot a text off to Cas, letting him know their room number. He might have added something to ask how he was getting on, or if he was ok, but he was too tired to even do that.

He practically kicked the door open and without so much as taking his shoes off, he collapsed face down on one of the beds and groaned into the comforter. He heard Sam chuckle behind him.

“You ok there, Dean?”

Dean hummed an affirmative, muffled by the quilt in his face, “you know what I always say, screw consciousness. You not sleeping?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to see Sam still standing.

“I’m gonna wait for Cas,” his brother muttered, but Dean barely heard it. He was already asleep by the time Sam said, ‘Cas.’

When Dean woke, exactly four hours later, he was aware of several things and not one of them positive. Firstly, it was still dark, which meant it was close to dawn but not quite there yet, so his sleep cycle or what remained of it was probably shot again. Secondly, his body ached in places he hadn’t felt for years and yeah Cas was great for healing the broken bones but Dean missed the days when, with a thought, Cas could heal him of everything that ailed him, muscle fatigue included. Thirdly, the bed beside him was untouched so when he looked up to see Sam frowning at his laptop in the corner of the room, he knew Sam hadn’t been to bed yet, even though a nap in the Impala didn’t really count as restive. And finally, there was no Cas.

“Where’s Cas?”

Sam glanced up, unsurprised that Dean was awake or that his first thought had been to ask the obvious. “He’s not here.”

Dean practically jumped from the bed, “well, where is he? Did something happen? Do we need to go back and get him? Have you called him?”

He bristled at the bitch face his brother was sending him as though Dean were somehow to blame for this. “He got out just fine, he’s twenty miles away at a park somewhere and he’s not answering his phone.”

“What the hell, Sam?”

Sam huffed, dramatically, “I knew this was going to happen. I knew he’d run off after the case, so while he was driving I turned his GPS on so we can track him. He hasn’t noticed yet.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snapped, spraying a token gesture of deodorant over himself and grabbing Baby’s keys, “wait...what do you mean you knew this was going to happen?”

“Really, Dean?” Sam’s eye rolls were becoming legendary, “you’ve spent the last few days running out of the room because you didn’t want to tell him the truth. So as far as Cas knows, you’ve been lying to him about something so important you’d sooner kill a God than admit it.” As he spoke he wrote down something on a slip of paper. “He’s here,” Dean took the paper and recognised the name of a park they’d passed signs for the night before, “now go fix things,” he folded his arms across his chest, “I swear to God Dean, I’m not going to lose a brother over this.”

Dean was already stumbling over assurances that Sam would never have to worry about losing him before he realised, with widened eyes what Sam was saying. So with a brief salute and a mumbled, ‘got it,’ Dean swung open the door and practically jogged to the Impala even though it was parked just outside the door.

* * *

The sun had risen by the time Dean parked the Impala in the car park and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Cas’ car two spaces over. It was the only other car present, which was hardly surprising given the hour. It didn’t take long for Dean to find Cas, sitting at a bench looking over a lake and though he didn’t turn to look at Dean as he approached, there was no doubt he knew he was there.

“Hello Dean,” he said, and Dean had never heard it as a sigh before.

He dropped down onto the bench beside him, “Hey, Cas. You didn’t come to the motel.”

“I had some things to take care of,” Cas paused for a moment, “it might interest you to know that Elijah Smith has returned to his wife.”

“Huh, you tell him that the uh...spell, or whatever it was was done?”

Staring at him, almost thoughtfully, Cas said, “actually, he’d already gone home. He’d decided to tell his wife the truth anyway and she took it better than he’d assumed. He wanted me to apologise to the other _agents_ for making them come out there and thank them for making him realise he was being a coward.”

They fell into a silence, which wasn’t unusual for them. What was unusual was the level of tension between them, the word ‘coward’ hanging between them. The strain was palpable in the air until Dean realised that Cas was not going to be particularly forthcoming. Nor could he expect him to, it was Dean who had messed up and as uncomfortable as this was he was going to need to fix it. He swallowed, his throat suddenly unbearably dry and he dropped his eyes to his hands, “so uh...I should probably explain a few things.”

Cas made a sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff, “but naturally, you had to wait until after you were no longer compelled to tell the truth.”

“Hey, that wasn’t...it’s...it’s not like that, ok. There was just stuff I didn’t want you to find out because I had to tell you, stuff you should hear from me because I wanted to tell you, not because I had to, y’know?”

As far as an impassioned plea went, Dean thought he’d done pretty well, surprisingly well actually, given how prone he was to messing talks about feelings up or talks about anything up for that matter. But that thought died when he glanced over to find Cas fixing him with a stare like steel, and for once his blue eyes looked almost dangerous, burning with ice and fire behind them.

“I’ll tell you what _‘I know’_ ,” he said, eviscerating each word from the air with such force even the implied air quotes couldn’t soften it, “in the past both of us acted dishonestly towards each other. There have been times when we have lied or deceived the other and every single time that has been shown to be a mistake. I know that I have learned from those mistakes and as such have tried to be more open and honest in my dealings with you and your brother. You say we are family after all. I had thought that you might do the same, but instead, I discover that you are so dishonest with me that you have spent two days running from the room lest you accidentally tell me something you don’t want me to know.” He took a breath, turning from Dean’s stunned expression and sighing, “I...I thought better of us, Dean. I don’t know if I can be a part of this if you’re comfortable with this level of deceit.”

“No, Cas, no, it’s not like that,” Dean spluttered and for a moment he wanted to take Cas’ hand in his own and hold it close, as though to reassure him of their closeness. Though right now Cas looked as though if Dean took his hand he would pull away at best, smite Dean at worst and right now Dean didn’t think he could handle Cas physically pulling away from him. There was plenty of time for that.

Cas raised an eyebrow and he shouldn’t look so hot when he was being so imperious, but there it was. “It’s not?”

“No, it’s...” Dean took a deep breath, steadying himself. Well, this was happening. “Look, there’s some stuff I’ve not told you because I didn’t want it to be awkward between us ok? You’re my best friend and you’re an angel of the freaking Lord so it’s not like I can expect anything, and I’m surprised you even consider me a friend, to be honest, I mean that’s more than I could ever have hoped for as is. So I have some things that I didn’t want you to know because I really didn’t want to lose what we have or mess up our friendship or whatever. Plus,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “these are things that if I was gonna tell you I’d _want_ to tell you. It would be right having them forced out like that, not coz of some stupid spell or something.”

“Dean,” Cas breathed, and it could have broken Dean’s heart at how forgiving the angel could be, “there is nothing you could tell me that would do that.”

Dean scoffed, “yeah, you say that now.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said, again, and it was almost a plea now.

Dean turned away, dropping his gaze to the floor; if he was going to tell all there was no way he was going to see Cas pull away from him as he did. Bad enough that he knew Cas would reject him after this, but he didn’t have to watch him leave. “I like you, Cas,” Dean said, in a rush, and now that those first few words were out he found he could just bulldoze through the rest, “I don’t mean in a friend way and I don’t know when it happened but it just sort of did and you’re just...you’re just amazing, you know? And I know nothing can happen because you’re an angel and I’m just a beat-up hunter and even if it could happen I wouldn’t deserve it,” he turned to Cas, he couldn’t help it, “you deserve the world, Cas. You know that? There is nothing I wouldn’t give you if I could, but I’ve always known that angels don’t really swing that way. You said yourself human feelings aren’t for angels and all that and I never wanted to tell you coz it never seemed right and it’ll just change things.”

He felt a little light-headed after blurting out everything on his mind and then some. Leaning back into the bench Dean closed his eyes and waited for Cas to leave. He was going to anyway, but at least now he’d be doing it for what Dean had said, rather for what he hadn’t. He felt Cas shift beside him and the displacement of air as he left the bench. Emptiness settled over Dean, he kept his eyes closed, missing the days when Cas could just disappear with a flutter of wings. At least that way he wouldn’t have to watch the angel walk away. He’d known this was going to happen, but he wasn’t prepared for it.

Two hands came to rest on Dean’s thighs and he flinched in his seat, jerking forward and opening his eyes to find that Cas hadn’t left, he’d just moved and was now kneeling between Dean’s legs, his hands holding him firm and steady.

“Dean,” he said, in that way that made his name sound like the most precious thing in the world, as though it were too precious to be spoken. “I never wanted the world.” He was close, so close that Dean could count his eyelashes, that he could almost see himself reflected in the blue depths. Cas’ gaze dropped momentarily to Dean’s lips and back again and suddenly Dean realised just how often they had been this close. Well, maybe not this close but hadn’t he always had to remind Cas about personal space?

‘ _I hunted, I rebelled and I did all of it for you.’_

_‘Dean and I do share a more profound bond...’_

_‘I’ll watch over you.’_

_‘Everyone you know, everyone you love could be gone...everyone except me...’_

_‘I love you.’_

“Oh,” Dean breathed. And he could see Cas watching him, seeing all the pieces fall into place. Well, the guy had pulled him from hell and pieced him back together, in hindsight he’d probably known all along.

“Oh,” Cas agreed and then there was no more distance between them, the lips that Dean had been casting glances at for years were finally, finally his to taste. It was soft, tender, and Dean had kissed so very many people, but it had never been like this. He reached a hand to cup Cas’ cheek while Cas’ hands slipped further up his thighs, purely to keep ahold of him, there would be plenty of time for exploration later.

When they broke apart a moment, an hour or an age later, they didn’t pull away, instead, Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s and they just smiled at each other.

“I’m glad you told me,” Cas said, eventually.

Dean couldn’t stop beaming even if he’d wanted to, “me too. I never thought-”

Cas silenced him with another kiss, brief and chaste but firm, “we’ve wasted enough time because of what you thought,” he said, “but we’re here now and I’m going to spend the rest of our very long lives together showing you how worthy of this you are.” His fingers trailed through Dean’s hair, and he added, absently, “I never thought I’d be worthy of you.”

Dean laughed, “dude-”

But Cas cut him off again and if Cas intended to kiss him into silence every time Dean said something he didn’t agree with, Dean was going to develop a lot of controversial opinions he decided. “We’re not going to get caught up in self-loathing, either,” Cas decided.

They could have passed the entire day like that; Cas practically sitting in Dean’s lap, exploring the taste and feel of the other’s lips. Neither of them pushed for more, both perfectly aware that there was time enough for that. A jogger wolf-whistled them as they passed by and at that point, Dean realised they should probably get going, neither of them had been particularly aware of the passing of time.

Cas caught the trail of his thoughts, of course, he did, he knew Dean so well, how had he ever thought he was hiding his feelings all this time, and rose, holding out his hand to Dean. Dean took it, and to Cas’ surprise didn’t let go, not until they were back in the car park and had to reluctantly break to take their separate cars. On the relatively short journey back to the motel Dean was surprised one or both of them didn’t crash. Every time Dean looked up in the rearview mirror Cas was smiling at him and Dean kept looking up just so he could smile back.


	8. Epilogue

Dean stretched out lazily under the covers of his own bed, smiling even before he’d opened his eyes. He always seemed to be smiling these days and even when his hand reached out to find the other side of the bed empty, it did not falter. He took his time waking up, his fingers idly tracing the slight indent in the mattress beside him. His bed remembered the night’s activities as much as Dean’s sated body did and he practically buried his grin in the pillow.

Everything was great.

Eventually, he pulled himself up, revelling in the way his body protested and ached in all the right places. Usually, Cas would be there to greet him, often with a cup of coffee but it didn’t bother Dean to find the room empty, though it did confuse him when he couldn’t find Cas in his room either, or the library, or the kitchen. He may have been confused, but he wasn't worried. Once upon a time, not too long ago, Dean would have freaked out, figuring with however little cause that Cas had finally gotten bored of him, but there was great comfort to be had in their honesty with each other. Cas hadn’t said anything was wrong, so there was no reason to think his absence had anything to do with Dean and didn’t it just make him grin all the more to be able to revel in such security. He’d never had that before, never allowed himself to have it, but then he’d never had anything like what he had with Cas before.

“Morning, Sammy!” he called at an obnoxiously loud volume as he stepped into the kitchen. Even in the face of one of his brother’s most epic of bitch faces, Dean’s smile didn’t waver, “what’s the matter? We run out of grain so you had to have a breakfast that tasted like something?”

“It’s called granola and look I thought you guys agreed to keep things low key,” Sam grumbled, “you know I’m happy for you, for both of you but seriously?”

“Did we keep you up last night, again? Coz you know what I’ve got to say about that, a good set of headphones is a good investment-”

“The war room, Dean. I’m talking about the war room.” Finally, Dean’s grin faltered which caused Sam to hesitate. “Oh...oh you haven’t seen it?”

Leaving the fridge to swing shut behind him Dean strode out into the hallway, making his way to the front of the bunker, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of the table that was usually bare given how little they used it. Sam was beside him, arms folded across his chest, “see what I mean?”

“Huh...yeah...” Dean swallowed, coz really...this was a bit much.

The usual map built into the table had been covered by a white tablecloth and Dean might have wondered where Cas had found such a thing if he hadn’t been taking in the rest of it. Flowers for a start, mostly roses, tied into pretty bouquets with twine that looked like it was printed with entwined ‘D’s and ‘C’s. There were several photographs of Dean and Cas that Dean hadn’t even seen before; they were mostly selfies taken by Cas. After all, he’d just about died of excitement when Dean showed him his camera had a ‘reverse’ mode. A huge silver balloon in the shape of a number one was attached to the largest of the bouquets, bobbing gently above it all. From the upper railings hung a cream banner with even more flowers around it, ‘Happy Anniversary.’

“Wow,” Dean breathed, “Guess it’s my anniversary, huh?” he said, as though he didn’t know exactly what day it was. As though he hadn’t been making his own plans for it and without thinking his hand went to his pocket to trace the simple band he’d been keeping there just in case the perfect opportunity presented itself before today. He stepped up to the table to pick up the card that had been left in the centre in an ostentatious red envelope. Cas’ neat hand, ‘Dean’ was the most subdued thing about it all. He was surprised then to find not a ridiculous card inside with flowery declarations of love that Cas must have gotten from a teenage girl’s Valentine’s Day Pinterest board, which is where Dean assumed he got the rest of it from, but just a piece of paper with a set of coordinates on it. He grinned, “don’t wait up, Sammy looks like I’m going out.”

Sam gestured to the table, “you wanna take that stuff down before you go?”

Looking between the decorations and his brother, Dean grinned, “Nah, I’ll do it when I get back,” he said, innocently, though he saw Sam give the hint of a smile and he knew he wasn’t really annoyed.

* * *

One of the earliest rules of hunting John Winchester had instilled in Dean was never to work a case in the same town twice. Solve the case and never let the place darken your rear-view mirror again. Dean had taught it to Sam and he thought he’d taught it to Cas, but as he drew nearer to what they’d termed, ‘Slavic Love God territory’ he thought maybe they’d have to have the conversation again. Not that they had any particular reason to stay away, it wasn’t as if they’d left a trail of unexplained dead bodies behind that would have the law on them as soon as they caught sight of Baby. In fact, Cas had been back a few times just to make sure nothing untoward was occurring, but there never was. Neither Siebog or Stacia had been seen since that night in the doctor’s basement.

Still, it was a relief when Dean turned off the highway onto unfamiliar roads, heading away from the town. It was dark when he pulled up at the destination Cas had given him, and however secluded and unfamiliar the place, there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that he’d arrived at the right place, and not just because he’d parked next to a rental car that looked so awful it could only have been chosen by Cas.

The log cabin backed onto a lake that lapped quietly against long grass, illuminated only by the stars and the bright moon. But Dean could see Cas even at this distance, sat beneath trees laden with fairy lights. Beside the angel burned an impressive fire pit, though he was disappointed to note there was nothing grilling. It had been a long drive, surely Cas had known Dean would be starving by now. But, he couldn’t stay mad, not when Cas turned at the sound of him approaching. His lips parted, no doubt to say hello, but Dean didn’t stop, stepping right into Castiel’s personal space and covering his lips with his own. “Hey Cas,” he breathed, after a relatively chaste kiss by way of greeting.

Cas was smiling, his head tilted, his eyes still closed and Dean loved the way Cas could still pause like this, like he couldn’t believe he had actually been kissed by Dean Winchester. Like he was the unworthy one here. “Dean,” he grinned, coming back to himself, “happy anniversary.” Cas looked beautiful at the best of times but he was positively iridescent in the glow of the fairy lights, the fire and the stars, Dean couldn’t help it, he wrapped his arms around him and practically spun them on the spot.

“Love ya, Cas,” he beamed, and he wondered how it was that he had ever struggled to say those words.

“I love you too, Dean, now put me down so I can feed you.”

He practically dropped the angel in response, “good, I’m starving!” Dean sank down onto the picnic blanket Cas had spread out near the fire but Cas hadn’t moved, staring at his partner in open admiration. “C’mon angel, feed me!” Dean laughed, leaning back onto his elbows and pretending that it wasn’t an open invitation. But Cas managed to resist enough to disappear into the cabin, returning a few minutes later with a particularly heavy-looking paper bag. He handed it, almost reverently to Dean, after all with just the two of them there was no need to keep up the pretence that he needed food for himself. Unpacking the bag, Dean laid it all out before him; a burger, fries, beer, those cheese ball bite things he missed every time he tried another diner’s equivalent, and a pot of the delicious marinara to dip them in. And of course, there was pie.

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean smiled, already with a mouthful of bacon because naturally, there was extra bacon on the burger. Cas dropped down beside him and snuggled up to Dean, leaving him enough room to eat – he might be the love of Dean’s life but he wasn’t quite important enough to get in between a hungry Dean and his dinner. Especially when there was pie involved. But he was content enough to sit beside him, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, looking across the lake. They sat in comfortable silence, or as close to silence as one could get while Dean Winchester was eating. Not that Castiel minded, he loved all of Dean, gross eating noises included.

It didn’t take him long to finish, washing it all down with a final chug of the beer and letting out a belch that would have mortified Sam if he were here to see it, Cas only laughed. Leaning into Cas’ warmth, Dean rested his head just above Cas’, leaning back on his arms so he could entwine their fingers. “Nice place,” he said, in no hurry to break the silence.

“You know, if it was lighter we might be able to see the other side of the lake. We might even be able to see the bench.”

“The bench?” Dean asked.

Cas grinned up at him, “the bench where we had our first kiss.”

Dean chuckled, nudging him with his shoulder, “you’re such a sap.”

“You love me.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said, leaning in for another kiss, as though he needed to affirm the fact.

They settled back down just to watch the lake in its stillness and it was a long time before Cas spoke again. “Dean, I’ve been thinking about marriage,” and Dean just about died when his breath left him faster than was surely possible.

“Oh...right...what?” he choked out, aware that Cas was looking at him with nothing short of amusement.

“Marriage, Dean. The commitment between a couple when they-”

“Cas, are you seriously explaining to me what marriage is?”

“I just wanted to be clear given that when we were last in the area we were only pretending to be married,” Cas turned to Dean with a smile, they always smiled these days, and blue eyes so bright sometimes Dean wondered if his grace wasn’t shimmering there all the time. “In heaven, we don’t have marriage. There’s never been a need for it, seeing as angels don’t have feelings, let alone emotion.” At this point, Dean would normally cut him off and tell him to get to the point, but this time he was happy to listen. “On earth, of course, it has numerous meanings. Some say it’s just a piece of paper, to some it’s a legal arrangement and others have God bless their union. I’ve been thinking about what that would mean for us. I mean, it would technically involve a piece of paper, though I wonder how far we could consider it a legal arrangement, seeing as you live your life with false names and fraudulent credit cards, and I doubt I could even be considered a legal citizen. Then there’s the religious aspect, there would seem little point either of us going to a church, knowing what we know about God and his absence in the world...”

“Cas,” Dean breathed, finally finding his voice somewhere in his impossibly dry throat, “what are you getting at?”

Cas cocked his head as he looked at him, not thinking about what to say next, just taking a moment to look at Dean. “I’d like to call you my husband, Dean if you’re willing. And I think I’d like you to call me your husband too.”

The way the fairy lights were reflected in the lake was really quite pretty. There was movement in the water, but so slight it could be a mirror for the stars with only the slightest of disturbances. That’s why Dean suddenly had turn to look at it, that and the firelight was starting to irritate his eyes, he could feel a tear gathering, and he had to rub his face quickly before Cas thought he was emotional or something. That would have been ridiculous. “Yeah,” he swallowed, “yeah I’d like that.”

He was brought back to reality, his head whirling with all that he thought he could never have, when Cas reached over and slipped a plain band onto Dean’s finger, the finger that had never worn anything before and had never expected to. With a gentle smirk, Dean reached into his own pocket and pulled out an insanely similar band. He didn’t know whether to look at the hand before him, or the wonder in Cas’ expression as he slipped it onto the angel’s corresponding finger.

For a little while, they held hands, admiring the simplicity of the gesture and the similarities in their tastes. For all angels weren’t created for love, the ring on Castiel’s finger looked as though it was meant to be, as though there had been something missing from there until this very moment. At some point, their lips met in the middle and Dean couldn’t help but smile against Cas’ lips as he felt his hand cup his face, and something else, a cold tang of metal.

“I love you, husband,” Cas said, with a grin that was far too adorable for someone who had once acted as a soldier of heaven.

And Dean, who had served in hell, who had borne the mark of Cain, who had largely given up on the thought of ever being happy let alone this happy could only say back, “love you too.”

Across the lake, far out of sight from the happy couple who were now too lost in each other to have noticed even if they could have seen, another couple sat on the bench, on their bench, where the first declarations of love had been made a year ago to the day.

“I told you they would be happy!” Stacia announced, elbowing the man beside her harshly in the ribs.

“I never disagreed with you, woman,” Siebog snapped, rolling his eyes as his wife gloated.

“Still, it would have been nice to see them properly married.”

“What are you talking about, kochanic? They are as married as we are,” protested Siebog, which earned a hmph of disapproval from Stacia, “well, how would you marry an angel, then?” he asked, outraged.

She turned on him with her arms folded, “I do not need to worry about such things. I just posted him the flyer for the cabin and the burgers, marriage is your domain.”

“Oh no, we are in this together remember? You don’t get to play that card any more!”

“Maybe if you were any good at your job then I wouldn’t have to play that card, zhopa!”

“Maybe if you appreciated that your job didn’t end the moment mine begins we wouldn’t-”

On the other side of the lake, the fairy lights dimmed when Dean and Castiel decided to make their first night of their honeymoon a strictly private affair in the seclusion of their cabin. If they’d paused for a moment they might have caught the distant cursing of familiar voices, annoyed and a little breathless from the argument, but no less in love for it.


End file.
